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The  Grenadier 


A  ROVING,  ROARING,   ROLLICKING  BLADE  WAS  THE 
CAPTAIN    TARJEANTIRRE." 


The  Grenadier 


A   STORY   OF   THE    EMPIRE 


JAMES  EUGENE  FARMER,  M.  A. 

Author  of  "  Essays  on  French  History." 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1898 


' '  Le  guerrier  qui  a  suivi  Napoleon  sous  tous  les  climats  de 
1'univers,  le  guerrier  qui  a  combattu  sous  ses  ordres  en  tant  de 
royaumes,  qui  tant  de  fois  a  pris  sa  part  de  la  gloire  et  du  triomphe, 
qui  a  men6  cette  vie  tourment£e  pleine  de  privations,  de  souffrances, 
de  fatigues  et  de  dangers  mortels,  ne  peut  pas,  ne  doit  pas  oublier 
son  grand  g6n6ral."— RAMBAUD,  L'Allemagne  sous  Napoleon  ler. 


Copyright,  1896, 
BY  JAMES  EUGENE  FARMER 


6e  .Sorb  (gafttmore 

THE  FRIEDENWALD  COMPANY 
BALTIMORE,    MD.,    U.  S.  A. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THOSE  WHO  WERE  FAITHFUL 

TO  THE  END, 
LA  GARDE  IMPERIALE 


2p2^G*7Q 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE,       .........       9 

PROLOGUE  — THE  POST-HOUSE  OF  BURGOS,   .        .         .11 
CHAPTER  I. — PIERRE  PASQUIN,     .        .        .        .         .17 

II. — HENRI  JODELLE, 23 

III. — SARAGOSSA, 31 

IV. — THE  SURRENDER,    .....     38 

V. — A  LETTER  FOR  THE  EMPEROR,        .        .     45 

VI. — DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO,    .         .         .         .49 

VII. — Aux  TUILERIES, 58 

VIII. — THE  IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS,  .         .     68 

IX. — THE  WIDOW  PASQUIN,     .         .        .         .78 

X. — THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL,       .        .85 

XL — PLACE  AUX  DAMES  !         ....     94 

XII. — THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON,      .        .         .103 

XIII. — THE  BOLD  DUKE  MAXIMILIAN,        .         .119 

XIV. — THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING,        .        .         .127 

XV. — IN  THE  ISLAND  OF  LOBAU,      .        .         .141 

XVI. — THE  DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO,  .        .   146 

XVII. — THE  DANUBE, 153 

XVIII.  — WAGRAM,         .        .        .        .        .        .159 

XIX. — A  MARSHAL  OF  FRANCE,         .        .        .168 

XX. — THE  STUDY  OF  THE  EMPEROR,        .         .170 

XXI. — THE  CROSS  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR,    177 

XXIL— MARIE, 184 

XXIII. — THE  MISSION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM,   194 


8  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXIV. — AT  THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN,    207 

XXV. — THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN,  .  219 

XXVI. — THE  LION  AT  BAY,           .        .  .  232 

XXVII. — LES  ADIEUX  DE  FONTAINEBLEAU,  .  247 

XXVIII.—"  VIVE  LE  Roi!"    .         .         .  .250 

XXIX. — A  THUNDERBOLT  !   .        .        .  .256 

XXX. — THE  EAGLE  WITH  THE  TRICOLOR,  .  271 

XXXI. — IN  THE  PLACE  BELLECOUR,      .  .  278 

XXXII. — MAYOR  GIROUETTE,          .        .  .  284 

XXXIII. — PARIS  AT  LAST!       .        .        .  .294 

XXXIV.— A  WATERLOO,          .         .         .  .305 

XXXV.— FACE  TO  FACE  !                .         .  .308 

XXXVI.— GRENOBLE,       ...        .         .  .313 

XXXVII. — LA  FRANCE  DEMANDE  !    .        .  .  322 


PREFACE 


GOOD  reader,  I'll  not  burden  you  with  a  long  preface; 
nobody  likes  a  long  preface.  This  is  a  story  of  the 
Empire.  Follow  with  me,  then,  the  French  eagles, 
from  the  towers  of  Saragossa  to  the  Kremlin's  gilded 
dome  at  Moscow,  in  that  stirring  epoch  which,  as  even 
the  Prince  de  Metternich  was  forced  to  admit,  can 
receive  no  more  fitting  appellation  than  "  The  Age 
Napoleon."  If  when  you  have  finished  you  feel  that 
you  have  derived  some  pleasure  and  some  profit  from 
my  labor,  I  shall  say,  like  Gaspard  in  my  story,  "  That 
will  be  nice.  I  would  like  that " — and  so,  good-bye. 


PROLOGUE 
THE  POST-HOUSE  OF  BURGOS 

Is  this  the  man  of  thousand  thrones, 

Who  strew'd  our  earth  with  hostile  bones? 

— BYRON,  Ode  to  Napoleon. 

IN  the  month  of  January,  1809,  a  dozen  chasseurs  of 
the  French  army  were  gathered  around  a  log-fire  near 
a  post-house.  This  post-house  of  Burgos  was  a  small 
stone  structure,  one  story  high,  and  had  upon  either 
side,  in  the  rear,  a  long  wooden  barn,  forming  a 
wing.  Through  the  half-open  door  of  one  of  these 
barns  might  be  seen  a  couple  of  rough  traveling  car- 
riages; one  of  which,  freshly  covered  with  mud,  and 
with  a  broken  wheel,  showed  that  it  had  lately  been  in 
service. 

In  the  other  barn,  the  one  nearer  the  fire  where  the 
chasseurs  had  gathered,  were  a  number  of  horses; 
some  standing  ready  saddled  and  bridled;  others  be- 
ing rubbed  down  by  the  grooms,  while  one  in  par- 
ticular, a  splendid  bay  animal  whose  saddle-cloths 
were  stamped  with  an  N  surmounted  by  an  imperial 
crown,  was  being  led  slowly  up  and  down  the  narrow 
paved  court  between  the  post-house  and  the  barn.  In 
the  door  of  the  post-house  stood  a  large  man,  dark  and 
swarthy,  with  long  black  hair  and  beard.  On  his 
head  he  wore  a  broad,  soft  hat,  around  his  waist  a 
wide,  red  sash,  and  a  dark  red  cloak  hung  from  his 


12  THE  GRENADIER 

shoulders  to  the  tops  of  his  long  muddy  boots.  He 
was  the  postmaster  of  Burgos.  He  was  looking 
earnestly  down  the  road  toward  Valladolid;  occasion- 
ally he  turned  and  looked  toward  Vittoria,  and  then 
his  eyes  flashed  as  his  gaze  rested  upon  the  little 
group  of  chasseurs  and  upon  the  bay  charger  with  the 
imperial  trappings.  The  day  was  cold  and  clear.  It 
had  been  raining  hard  the  night  before,  but  it  was 
freezing  now,  and  a  thin  coat  of  ice  was  forming  on 
the  water  in  the  deep  ruts  cut  in  the  roads  by  the 
artillery  and  baggage  trains  that  had  passed  over 
them. 

The  wind  blew  more  sharply  and  the  chasseurs  drew 
nearer  to  the  fire. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  one,  who  showed  from  the  manner 
in  which  he  had  been  giving  orders  that  he  was  in 
command  of  the  little  detachment,  "it  is  true  we  are 
to  have  war  with  Austria.  I  had  it  from  De  Viry, 
who  brought  the  dispatches  from  the  War  Minister  in 
Paris  to  the  Emperor  at  Astorga.  Austria  is  arming; 
she  thinks  the  present  a  good  chance,  since  the  Em- 
peror and  the  Grand  Army  are  off  here  in  Spain, 
where  it  must  be  allowed  we  have  our  hands  full." 

"  Well,"  cried  another,  whose  bronzed  countenance 
with  its  two  ugly  red  scars  showed  that  this  was  not 
his  first  campaign,  "  let  us  hope  it  may  be  so  if  it  will 
take  us  out  of  here.  Mon  Dieu  what  a  country! 
Nothing  but  mountains  to  climb  and  rivers  to  cross, 
and  rain  and  mud  always.  And  what  a  people !  Their 
army  is  nothing — the  Guard  alone  could  thrash  that; 
but  every  peasant  is  in  arms,  and  they  shoot  out  at 
you  from  behind  their  houses,  they  lie  in  wait  for  you 
in  the  mountain  passes,  they  lurk  behind  every  rock 
We  are  not  fighting  an  army,  but  a  nation  in  arms." 


PROLOGUE  13 

So  it  was.  Spain,  having"  looked  on  while  the  vic- 
torious armies  of  France  traversed  Italy  and  Austria 
and  Prussia  and  Poland,  while  the  French  eagles  flew 
from  Milan  to  Vienna  and  from  Vienna  to  Berlin — 
Spain  had  now  met,  face  to  face,  the  man  of  Ma- 
rengo  and  of  Austerlitz,  and  Spain  would  not  soon 
forget  it. 

What  mattered  it  to  the  Spaniards  if  their  govern- 
ment was  imbecile  and  debased?  it  was  their  govern- 
ment; it  was  a  Spanish  government  What  mattered 
it  if  their  Prince  of  the  Asturias,  whom  they  admired 
and  who,  they  knew,  was  held  prisoner  in  France, 
was  weak  and  corrupt?  He  was  their  Prince  and  he 
was  a  Spaniard.  Prince  Joseph  Bonaparte,  whom  the 
French  Emperor  informed  them  he  had  chosen  for 
their  king,  might  be  a  very  good  man;  they  knew 
nothing  about  it;  they  did  not  want  to  know.  The 
priests  told  them  that  a  Frenchman  was  a  devil  in 
human  form,  and  that  whoever  killed  three  of  them 
would  receive  the  reward  of  heaven  without  purgatory. 
Joseph  Bonaparte  was  a  Frenchman.  That  was 
enough  for  them.  Had  he  been  an  angel  they  would 
have  given  him  all  the  attributes  of  hell. 

Therefore  this  proud  nation — the  national  pride  of 
Old  Castile  and  Aragon  leaping  to  its  utmost  height — 
rose  as  one  man,  drove  King  Joseph  out  of  Madrid, 
and  proclaimed  war  to  the  death  against  him,  and 
against  his  brother,  the  great  Emperor,  who  had  com- 
manded them  to  receive  him. 

But  they  reckoned  not  with  whom  they  had  to  deal. 
They  were  proud,  but  not  so  proud  as  the  man  who 
had  written,  "  I  shall  find  the  pillars  of  Hercules  in 
Spain.  I  shall  not  find  there  the  limits  of  my  power." 


14  THE  GRENADIER 

They  could  fight,  but  not  so  well  as  the  victor  of 
Rivoli  and  Marengo  and  Austerlitz  and  Friedland. 
So  he  came,  with  his  genius  and  his  glory,  his  Army 
of  the  Rhine  and  his  Old  Guard.  He  beat  them  at 
Vittoria;  he  routed  them  at  Burgos;  he  drove  them 
from  the  pass  of  Somo  Sierra ;  he  wheeled  his  thunder- 
ing cannon  about  their  capital ;  and  Madrid,  like  Cairo, 
Vienna  and  Berlin,  was  compelled  to  open  her  gates 
and  bow  before  the  conqueror. 

Then  the  red-coated  English,  under  Sir  John  Moore, 
came  from  Portugal,  and  the  French  Emperor  set  off 
promptly  in  pursuit  of  them,  and  pressed  them  hard 
through  the  steep  defiles  of  the  Guadarrama,  and 
across  the  Seco,  as  far  as  Astorga.  There  he  received 
the  news  that  Austria  was  arming  against  him,  and, 
leaving  the  pursuit  to  his  Marshals  Ney  and  Soult,  he 
returned  to  Valladolid,  where  for  five  days  he  worked 
incessantly,  giving  his  orders  before  setting  out  for 
France. 

Such  was  the  position  of  affairs  on  this  January 
morning,  1809,  and  in  the  little  group  at  the  post- 
house  of  Burgos  each  had  his  special  role  to  play  in 
the  great  drama  of  Empires. 

"They  say  that  General  Moore  and  the  English 
have  escaped  the  Emperor,"  said  one  of  the  troopers, 
addressing  the  captain. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  captain.  "  De  Viry  tells  me 
that  Ney  and  Soult  are  to  continue  the  pursuit,  but 
the  Emperor  must  return  to  France." 

"Again,  I  say,"  cried  the  old  chasseur,  who  had 
spoken  before,  "  God  grant  we  may  all  go  with  him. 
Give  me  a  good  fight  on  the  plains  of  Germany,  and 
no  more  chasing  of  these  miserable  banditti,  who  hide 


PROLOGUE  15 

among  their  mountains  and  shoot  you  in  the  back. 
If  the  Austrians  want  another  Austerlitz,  we'll  give  it 
to  them.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  Vienna  again.  I  was 
there  in  1805,  and  I  like  the  town." 

At  that  moment  the  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  upon 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  Valladolid,  and  the  chas- 
seurs ran  to  the  front  of  the  post-house,  which  had 
hidden  their  view  in  that  direction,  that  they  might 
see  who  was  coming. 

It  was  Watteville,  one  of  the  Emperor's  aides-de- 
camp, riding  at  a  furious  pace.  He  drew  rein  at  the 
post-house  door,  and  the  captain  of  chasseurs  ap- 
proached him  and  saluted. 

"  Captain  Duval,"  said  Watteville,  "  the  Emperor 
will  be  here  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  he  does 
not  stop,  but  pushes  on  to  Vittoria.  Be  ready." 
With  that  he  galloped  on. 

All  was  now  movement  and  animation  around  the 
little  post-house.  The  grooms  quickly  brought  the 
horses  out  of  their  stables;  Captain  Duval  inspected 
them  to  see  that  their  portmanteaus  contained  linen 
maps,  paper  and  telescopes,  as  the  Emperor's  orders 
required;  the  bay  charger  was  led  in  front  of  the 
post-house  door;  the  other  horses  were  brought  to  the 
courtyard  gate,  and  the  chasseurs  drew  up  in  line 
beside  them.  Captain  Duval  was  near  the  groom, 
who  held  the  Emperor's  horse;  all  was  ready. 

They  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  Suddenly,  around 
a  bend  in  the  road  from  Valladolid,  came  a  company 
of  horsemen.  They  rode  at  a  tearing  gallop,  and  their 
helmets  with  long  horsehair  crests,  their  busbys  with 
waving  plumes,  and  their  glittering,  gold-laced  uni- 
forms made  a  brilliant  show.  But  they  attracted  little 


16  THE  GRENADIER 

attention  from  the  group  gathered  about  the  post- 
house  door.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  who  rode 
at  their  head.  All  knew  that  short,  square  figure 
beneath  the  plain  cocked  hat  with  the  small  tricolored 
cockade;  his  gray  greatcoat  was  buttoned  closely  over 
his  breast;  his  riding  boots  with  silver  spurs  were 
thickly  splashed  with  mud;  by  his  side  was  the  sword 
of  Austerlitz;  it  was  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  His  pale 
face  was  calm,  but  his  brow  was  knit,  his  lips  com- 
pressed, and  his  eyes  flashed  as  he  leaned  forward, 
jerking  impatiently  at  his  bridle  reins  as  if  to  quicken 
his  already  furious  speed. 

On  arriving  at  the  post-house  the  Emperor  checked 
his  horse  so  suddenly  that  the  beast  was  thrown  upon 
its  haunches.  He  flung  himself  off,  bringing  his  foot 
heavily  to  the  ground.  One  of  the  grooms,  who  stood 
ready,  led  the  horse  quickly  away;  another  brought 
up  the  bay  charger.  The  Emperor  seized  the  reins, 
sprang  into  the  saddle  and  gave  the  highly  mettled 
animal  a  sharp  cut  with  his  whip,  which  made  him 
leap  forward  furiously. 

"Vive  1'Empereur!  "  shouted  the  chasseurs.  The 
postmaster  stood  in  his  doorway,  with  his  red  cloak 
wrapped  about  him.  silently  watching.  The  staff, 
having  changed  horses  as  rapidly  as  possible,  rode 
hard  after  the  Emperor;  the  chasseurs  returned  to  their 
quarters  to  await  orders  from  Marshal  Lannes,  who 
was  in  command  at  Valladolid,  but  the  postmaster  still 
stood,  gazing  intently  down  the  road  toward  Vittoria 
after  *he  great  apparition  which  he,  for  the  first  time, 
had  seen. 


CHAPTER  I 
PIERRE  PASQUIN 

I  hate  that  drum's  discordant  sound, 

Parading  round,  and  round,  and  round  ; 

To  thoughtless  youth  it  pleasure  yields, 

And  lures  from  cities  and  from  fields, 

To  sell  their  liberty  for  charms 

Of  tawdry  lace  and  glittering  arms ; 

And  when  Ambition's  voice  commands, 

To  march,  and  fight,  and  fall  in  foreign  lands. 

— JOHN  SCOTT,  Ode  on  Hearing  the  Drum. 

IN  the  Rue  Montorge,  Grenoble,  not  far  from  the 
famous  inn,  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins,  stood  the 
little  house  of  Widow  Pasquin.  It  was  well  known  to 
all  persons  living  in  the  vicinity,  and  though  used  now 
as  a  humble  epicerie,  showed  signs  that  it  had  seen 
better  days.  The  plain  stone  faqade  was  broken  by  a 
low  doorway,  above  which  ornamental  consoles  sup- 
ported a  circular  stone  balcony  with  a  curiously 
wrought  iron  railing,  so  common  in  the  rococo  archi- 
tecture of  the  Louis  Quinze  period.  Inside  all  was 
neat  and  scrupulously  clean,  and  a  modest  stock  of 
groceries  and  staples  was  arranged  upon  the  counters 
and  shelves. 

Jeanne  Pasquin,  or  as  she  was  called  by  her  neigh- 
bors, the  Widow  Pasquin,  was  a  small,  slender  woman, 
now  nearly  fifty.  She  had  once,  no  doubt,  possessed 
beauty,  but  long  years  of  struggle  for  subsistence  and 

2 


i8  THE  GRENADIER 

the  terrors  and  anxieties  of  the  Revolution  had  left 
their  marks  in  the  careworn  eyes  and  sad  lines  of  her 
face.  Her  hair,  once  black,  was  thickly  streaked  with 
gray  and  her  shoulders  somewhat  bent  People  said 
she  had  never  been  the  same  since  the  day  the  news 
reached  her  that  her  eldest  son  Robert  had  perished 
in  the  war. 

Her  husband,  Amand  Pasquin,  enjoyed  some  con- 
sideration under  the  Old  Regime,  and  had  been  at  one 
time  directeur  des  pastes,  but,  unlike  many  of  his  fel- 
lows, he  embraced  warmly  the  revolutionary  doctrines 
of  1789.  On  the  outbreak  of  the  war  in  1792  he 
entered  the  army,  fought  bravely  at  Valmy  and  Jem- 
mapes,  gained  the  rank  of  colonel,  followed  Bonaparte 
to  Italy  and  perished  at  the  Bridge  of  Lodi.  Robert 
had  entered  the  army  in  1805  and  had  been  killed  at 
Eylau.  Left  thus  to  struggle  with  the  world,  the 
Widow  Pasquin  had  managed  to  derive  enough  sup- 
port from  her  epicerie  to  maintain  herself  and  educate 
her  son  Pierre,  in  whom  all  her  love  was  centered; 
Pierre,  whose  manly  qualities  won  for  him  the  hearts 
of  all,  not  only  of  the  boys  and  girls  who  were  his 
companions,  but  of  old  Father  Augustin  who  taught 
at  the  college  and  of  Father  Morot  who  preached  in 
the  chapel  of  St.  Laurent. 

On  this  day,  the  second  of  January,  1809,  Pierre  was 
eighteen.  The  Widow  Pasquin,  sitting  in  her  little 
shop,  was  planning  to  arrange  some  surprise  for  him, 
when  the  door  opened  suddenly.  There  was  a  merry 
laugh,  a  joyful  cry,  "  Ah !  there  you  are,  la  petite  mere," 
and  Pierre  sprang  forward  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

He  was  a  fine-looking  fellow  as  he  stood  there  by  her 
side,  with  his  well-built  form,  his  dark  eyes  flashing 


PIERRE  PASQUIN  19 

brightly,  his  cheeks  glowing  with  health  and  exercise, 
and  his  thick  black  hair,  which  he  still  wore  long  in 
fashion  of  the  Directoire,  tossed  back  from  his  fore- 
head. So  thought  the  fond  mother  as  she  looked 
upon  him;  so  too  thought  many  a  fair  maiden  of  the 
Rue  Montorge. 

"Why  do  you  come  so  early  to-day,  Pierre?"  in- 
quired the  Widow. 

"  News  has  come  of  the  surrender  of  Madrid,"  an- 
swered Pierre,  "  and  the  good  Father  Augustin  has 
gone  to  the  cathedral  to  assist  at  the  Te  Deum.  I 
have  hastened  home  to  you  because  I  have  something 
to  ask  of  you.  This  is  my  birthday,  you  know.  I  am 
eighteen  to-day.  Now,  mother  dear,  grant  me  this 
favor;  it  will  be  your  greatest  birthday  gift  to  me, — let 
me  enter  the  army." 

The  Widow  Pasquin  did  not  answer.  She  sank  into 
a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  For  this, 
then,  she  had  so  carefully  watched  and  guarded  her 
only  remaining  child !  How  she  had  trembled  at  each 
decree  of  the  senate  which  offered  to  the  Emperor  new 
levies  of  troops!  How  she  had  hoped,  in  1807,  that 
the  Peace  of  Tilsit  would  bring  repose  to  France! 
Now  this  new  war  in  Spain,  with  all  its  terrors;  these 
new  levies  of  men !  He  too  would  go  like  her  Amand 
and  her  Robert,  and  she  would  never  see  him  again. 

She  raised  her  head  and  Pierre  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  "  Do  not  cry,  petite  mere,"  he 
said  gaily.  "  I  shall  fight  for  France  and  the  Em- 
peror. I  shall  win  glory!  Think  how  proud  you  will 
be  when  one  day  you  learn  that  Pierre  has  done  some 
brave  deed  and  has  received  the  cross,  and  he  comes 
back  to  you  in  a  splendid  uniform  all  covered  with 


20  THE  GRENADIER 

gold,  and  tells  you  of  all  the  adventures  of  the  cam- 
paign, and  has  enough  money  to  make  you  happy 
always!  Oh,  mother,  you  should  have  seen  Jean 
Deteau!  You  remember  Jean  who  lived  near  the 
Place  St.  Andre?  He  was  here  yesterday.  He  goes 
to  Spain,  for  he  is  aide-de-camp  to  Marshal  Lannes. 
You  should  have  seen  him  with  his  beautiful  uniform 
and  gold  lace,  his  great  plumed  busby,  his  glittering 
sword,  and  his  cross  which  he  won  for  capturing  a 
gun  at  Jena.  The  Emperor  gave  it  him  at  the  review 
in  the  great  square  at  Potsdam.  He  gave  it  with  his 
own  hand,  saying,  '  For  the  brave  Jean  Deteau,'  and 
all  the  drums  rolled.  Think  of  that,  mother!  How 
they  crowded  around  him  yesterday  when  he  came  into 
the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins!  Old  Monsieur  Mont- 
fort,  the  rich  banker  who  lives  in  the  Place  Grenette, 
got  out  of  his  carriage  and  talked  to  him  hat  in  hand. 
Think  of  that!  You  should  have  heard  him  tell  how 
they  charged  the  Prussians  at  Jena!  Forty  thousand 
of  our  cuirassiers,  and  at  their  head  the  Prince  Murat; 
his  long  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  his  gold-em- 
broidered uniform  shining  in  the  sun,  and  his  great 
white  plume  floating  over  all,  as  he  waved  his  riding 
whip  and  urged  his  war  horse  right  into  the  midst  of 
the  enemy,  shouting,  '  Forward,  my  brave  boys !  Vive 
I'Empereur!'" 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go,  my  son,"  said  the  Widow 
Pasquin.  "  You  are  all  that  is  left  to  me.  The  pere 
Amand  went;  he  too  was  to  win  fame  and  honor.  One 
day  came  news  of  a  great  victory — Lodi.  There  were 
bonfires  in  the  streets  and  all  the  people  danced  and 
sung,  but  no  husband  came  back  to  me.  He  was  lying 
dead  on  the  plain.  Then  Robert — noble,  brave 


PIERRE  PASQUIN  21 

Robert — he  too  must  go.  Again  I  heard  them  cry- 
ing, 'Glorious  victory!  Battle  of  Friedland!  Peace 
of  Tilsit! '  There  were  bonfires  in  the  streets,  the 
Mayor  illuminated  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  the  Arch- 
bishop celebrated  mass  in  the  cathedral,  but  no  Robert 
came  back.  My  brave  boy  was  dead  and  cold  amid 
the  snow  in  Poland !  Now  you  would  go.  For  what? 
To  win  glory,  you  say.  Alas!  some  day  I  shall  hear 
of  a  famous  victory,  some  Austerlitz,  some  Friedland, 
but  no  Pierre  will  come  back  to  me!  I  shall  never 
see  my  brave  boy  again ! " 

"  But,  mother, "  said  Pierre. 

"  This  man,"  continued  the  Widow,  "  this  Napo- 
leon !  What  do  I  profit  by  his  Austerlitz,  by  his  Jena, 
by  his  Peace  of  Tilsit!  Has  he  not  robbed  me  of 
enough?  No,  No!  I  cannot  let  you  go!  How  I  have 
trembled  when  I  heard  of  each  new  levy !  How  I  have 
rejoiced  when  you  were  not  drafted!  Now  you  come 
to  tell  me  that  you  want  to  leave  me.  I  shall  die  per- 
haps of  want,  for  I  am  getting  old  to  labor,  and  you 
will  go  to  perish." 

The  Widow  Pasquin  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  But,  mother,"  cried  Pierre,  "  I  shall  have  better 
luck  than  pere  Amand  and  Robert.  You  shall  never 
die  of  want!  I  shall  bring  you  all  things!  Everyone 
should  fight  for  la  patrie,  for  the  Emperor,  the  great 
Emperor  who  governs  all ;  who  gives  our  France  such 
glory!" 

"  You  will  fall  like  Robert  and  pere  Amand,"  an- 
swered the  Widow.  "  The  Pasquins  are  not  lucky. 
As  for  fighting  for  la  patrie;  why  should  they  fight  at 
all  now?  They  do  not  fight  for  France;  they  fight  to 


22  THE  GRENADIER 

make  his  brother  King  of  Spain.  So,  if  you  fight, 
you  do  not  fight  for  France,  but  for  Napoleon  alone." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Pierre,  "  the  good  priest  tells 
us  that  the  cause  of  France  is  just;  that  God  will  bless 
our  efforts  for  the  country." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  Widow  Pasquin,  raising  her 
eyes  solemnly,  "  we  cannot  believe  all  that  even  priests 
may  tell  us  in  these  days.  The  Frenchmen  of  this  age 
no  longer  worship  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost.  They 
have  created  a  new  Trinity — France,  Napoleon  and 
Glory!" 


CHAPTER  II 
HENRI  JODELLE 

None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair. 

— DRYUEN,  Alexander's  Feast. 

HENRI  JODELLE  had  been  a  soldier.  He  gained  some 
distinction  in  the  early  wars  of  the  Revolution;  led  a 
charge  at  Valmy,  and  was  in  that  famous  company  of 
Pichegru's  hussars  who  captured  the  Dutch  fleet  in 
the  winter  of  1795.  Later  he  entered  the  Army  of 
Italy,  but  lost  a  leg  at  Castiglione,  and  as  misfortunes 
never  come  singly,  his  wife  died  shortly  afterwards. 
Retired  with  a  small  pension,  he  had  made  a  comfort- 
able living  as  a  restaurateur,  and  few  places  were 
better  known  to  the  people  of  Grenoble  than  the 
Cafe  Jodelle.  It  faced  the  Place  Grenette,  and  in 
fine  weather  the  little  tables  and  chairs  were  placed  out- 
side about  the  door  under  a  broad  awning.  The  in- 
terior was  of  modest  dimensions.  In  the  centre  stood 
a  large  shining  urn  for  making  coffee.  Against  the 
walls  and  under  the  latticed  windows  were  placed  the 
small  tables,  with  four  chairs  to  each.  On  one  wall 
hung  a  print  of  Hennequin's  curious  engraving  repre- 
senting General  Bonaparte  with  a  great  plumed  hat, 
his  hand  on  his  sword,  his  horse  at  a  gallop,  and 
underneath  the  title,  "  Bonaparte,  General  en  chef  de 
1'armee  d'ltalie."  Between  the  windows  hung  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Battle  of  Castiglione,  while  above  the 


24  THE  GRENADIER 

white  wooden  mantel  was  suspended  a  large  colored 
print  entitled,  "  Napoleon  distribue  les  aigles  a 
1'armee,"  a  copy  of  David's  painting  which  represented 
the  Emperor  in  his  coronation  robes  giving  the  eagles 
to  the  army  on  the  Champ-de-Mars. 

The  cafe  was  famous  for  having  the  best  liqueurs  in 
Grenoble,  and  doubly  fortunate  was  that  patron  of  the 
place,  who,  in  addition  to  the  viands  he  received,  could 
obtain  a  smile  from  the  host's  daughter  Marie. 
Though  only  seventeen,  Marie  had  had  many  suitors; 
but  Henri,  in  his  double  role  of  father  and  duenna, 
had  frowned  upon  them  all.  In  Henri's  eyes  a  man 
who  was  not  a  soldier  was  nothing.  To  him  the  Em- 
peror was  a  god,  and  the  Garde  Imperiale  the  apogee 
of  military  glory. 

If,  among  the  many  who  had  sought  Marie's  hand, 
there  was  one  on  whom  Henri  looked  with  some  favor, 
it  was  Jean  Deteau.  He  had  known  Jean  from  his 
boyhood;  had  watched  his  career  with  interest;  had 
rejoiced  at  the  bravery  he  displayed  in  the  Prussian 
campaign,  and  now  that  he  saw  him  return  decorated 
with  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  aide-de-camp  to  Mar- 
shal Lannes,  he  felt  that  here  was  one  of  whom,  as  a 
possible  son-in-law,  he  could  be  justly  proud. 

Marie,  on  the  contrary,  had  never  cared  for  Jean. 
Perhaps  the  very  reiteration  of  his  praises  by  her 
father  had  wearied  her.  She  admired  his  bravery,  but 
she  could  never  feel  at  ease  when  his  keen,  restless 
black  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her,  as  they  always 
were  when  he  came  to  the  Cafe  Jodelle.  He  was 
bright  and  gay.  He  laughed  a  great  deal,  but  about 
his  laugh  there  was  something  so  insincere,  at  times 
so  heartless,  that  it  almost  frightened  her. 


HENRI  JODELLE  25 

As  may  be  surmised,  Jean  would  not  leave  Grenoble 
without  paying  a  visit  to  Marie  and  Henri,  and  about 
seven  in  the  evening  on  the  day  when  Pierre  had  seen 
him  at  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins,  he  entered  the 
Cafe  Jodelle. 

Henri  gave  him  a  warm  welcome,  and  Marie  smiled 
as  she  extended  her  hand. 

The  clock  was  striking  ten  when  Jean  emerged 
from  the  cafe.  Something  had  evidently  occurred  to 
mar  the  pleasure  of  his  visit.  His  face  was  hard  and 
set;  his  eyes  flashed  fiercely;  he  pushed  his  busby 
angrily  down  upon  his  forehead,  and  threw  his  mili- 
tary cloak  about  his  shoulders  as  he  strode  across  the 
Place  Grenette. 

There  were  few  pedestrians  in  the  Rue  Montorge 
when  he  reached  it,  and  nothing  disturbed  the  stillness 
of  the  street  save  the  clank  of  his  sword  and  the  click 
of  his  spurs  on  the  cobblestones  as  he  hurried  along. 
As  he  came  under  one  of  the  flickering  lights  that 
faintly  illuminated  the  gloom,  {ie  noticed,  in  the  win- 
dow of  a  shop  before  which  he  was  passing,  the 
sign,  "  Jeanne  Pasquin,  Epicerie."  He  stopped,  and 
glanced  up,  surveying  the  fagade  of  the  little  house, 
from  its  curved  gables  to  the  circular  balcony  above 
the  door.  The  glance  was  momentary,  but  it  was  full 
of  hatred  and  scorn.  Then  hurrying  on,  he  reached 
the  Trois  Dauphins,  and  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  fol- 
lowing morning  mounted  his  horse  and  set  out  for 
Spain. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Henri  had 
gone  to  the  Place  St.  Andre,  and  there  were  few  peo- 
ple in  the  Cafe  Jodelle  when  Pierre  Pasquin  entered  it. 
A  couple  of  hussars  were  seated  at  one  of  the  tables, 


26  THE  GRENADIER 

being  served  by  the  gargon  Gaspard,  while  a  young 
fellow  in  a  peasant's  blouse  and  heavy  wooden  shoes 
was  staring  at  the  engraving  of  Bonaparte  as  General 
in  Italy. 

Pierre  nodded  to  Gaspard,  and  passed  through  the 
cafe  with  the  air  of  one  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
place.  He  crossed  a  narrow  side  hall  and  was  about 
to  knock  at  a  door,  leading  into  a  small  sitting  room, 
when  he  perceived  that  it  was  slightly  open.  Through 
the  crack  he  could  see  Marie  Jodelle.  He  thought 
she  had  never  appeared  more  beautiful.  Her  soft 
brown  hair  waved  about  her  face,  and  her  delicate 
color  was  heightened  by  the  little  white  cap  she  wore 
and  the  bow  of  black  ribbon  about  her  throat.  She 
was  sitting  in  a  chair,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap, 
looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window. 

Pierre  watched  her  for  a  moment,  but,  as  something 
outside  the  window  attracted  her  attention,  she  moved 
her  chair  and  turned  her  back  toward  the  door.  He 
entered  quietly,  and  slipping  up  behind  her,  put  both 
hands  over  her  eyes,  and  then,  quickly  removing  them, 
kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

"Oh,  Pierre!"  cried  Marie,  jumping  up,  "I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come.  I  have  been  hoping  you  would 
come  to-day.  I  am  so  troubled." 

"  What  has  troubled  you,  Marie?  " 

"  Close  the  door,  Pierre,"  said  Marie,  "  and  I  will 
tell  you." 

He  did  so,  and  when  he  had  seated  himself,  she 
said,  "  Pierre,  last  night  Jean  was  here.  He  came  to 
say  good-bye  before  he  went  to  Spain.  Father  was 
very  glad  to  see  him.  You  know  father  always  speaks 
well  of  Jean." 


HENRI  JODELLE  27 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Pierre. 

"  Father  went  away  before  very  long,"  continued 
Marie,  "  and  then  Jean  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  he 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  he — Why,  Pierre,  what's  the 
matter?  " 

Pierre  was  pale;  he  trembled. 

"I  told  him  I  did  not  care  for  him,  Pierre.  Of 
course  you  know  that.  I  told  him  I  could  not  marry 
him." 

The  boy  sprang  forward  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  He  looked  at  me  so  strangely,"  said  Marie.  "  He 
was  so  angry  when  he  went  away,"  and  she  added 
nervously,  "  he  said — he  said  he  was  determined  to 
marry  me.  I  was  afraid  he  would  ask  pere  Henri,  and 
if  he  did  I  think  father  would  consent,  for  he  admires 
Jean.  I  am  so  troubled  about  it  all." 

She  had  intended  to  tell  him  everything,  but  there 
was  one  incident  she  forgot  to  mention.  Jean  had 
tried  to  embrace  her;  she  had  sprung  away  from  him, 
and  as  she  did  so,  her  foot  had  caught  in  the  folds  of 
a  rug  and  she  had  fallen.  A  gold  chain  which  she 
wore  about  her  neck  caught  in  the  fringe  of  the  rug, 
and,  as  she  jumped  quickly  up  again,  it  snapped, 
leaving  a  little  picture  lying  on  the  floor.  Jean  had 
picked  it  up.  It  was  a  cheap  miniature,  the  work  of 
some  mediocre  artist,  but  the  likeness  was  fair  enough. 
He  had  recognized  it  at  a  glance  and  had  handed  it 
back  to  her  without  a  word.  It  was  the  picture  of 
Pierre. 

"  Do  not  worry,  Marie,"  said  Pierre,  kneeling  beside 
her  and  putting  his  arm  around  her  waist.  "  Jean  has 
gone  to  Spain.  He  will  not  be  here  soon  again.  You 


28  THE  GRENADIER 

know  how  I  have  longed  to  enter  the  army,  to  do 
some  brave  deed,  to  win  the  cross,  so  that  I  could  go 
to  the  pere  Henri  and  say,  '  See,  I  am  a  soldier,  I  have 
won  honor,  I  am  worthy  of  Marie ! '  Only  this  morn- 
ing I  asked  the  mere  Pasquin  to  let  me  go,  but  she 
felt  so  badly  and  cried  so  much  that  I  cannot  ask  her 
again.  I  fear  I  must  stay  and  help  at  the  epicerie. 
Others  will  go  to  gain  riches  and  honor.  Oh,  Marie, 
none  of  them  could  love  you  more  truly  than  I !  None 
of  them  could  fight  better  for  France!  None  of 
them—  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  sir?  "  came  suddenly  in 
sharp  imperative  tones  from  the  doorway.  They  had 
been  so  occupied  that  they  had  not  heard  the  door 
open.  Marie  started  to  rise.  Pierre  sprang  up  and 
faced  the  door.  There,  leaning  upon  his  crutch,  his 
heavy  gray  mustache  bristling  fiercely  and  his  eyes 
flashing  as  they  might  have  flashed  when  he  led  the 
charge  at  Valmy,  stood  Henri  Jodelle. 

"  Young  Pasquin,"  said  the  old  soldier,  who  was 
evidently  making  an  effort  to  control  his  temper,  "  I 
have  let  you  know  before  that  you  have  been  here  too 
often.  What  do  you  mean  by  being  here  to-day?" 

Pierre  saw  that  the  moment  which  he  dreaded  had 
come.  He  looked  his  interlocutor  full  in  the  face. 
"  I  love  your  daughter,  pere  Henri,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  She  has  told  me  that  she  loves  me,  and  I  am  come 
to  ask  you  for  her  hand." 

He  expected  an  outbreak.  The  old  soldier's  face 
was  very  red,  his  eyes  flashed,  but  he  said  nothing. 
He  looked  at  Pierre,  a  stern,  steady  glance  which  sur- 
veyed him  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  his  feet. 
Pierre  did  not  weaken,  and  his  bearing  evidently  made 


HENRI  JODELLE  29 

some  impression  upon  Henri,  for  his  glance  softened 
a  little,  but  when  he  spoke  his  tone  was  sharp  and 
severe. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  support  a  wife, 
young  Pasquin?" 

Pierre  colored  a  little,  but  replied  firmly,  "  I  am 
going  to  manage  my  mother's  epicerie  in  the  Rue 
Montorge." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  a  noble  occupation!"  cried  the  old 
soldier  contemptuously.  "  Here  is  a  brave  young  man 
truly!  A  great,  strong  fellow,  who  when  the  country 
needs  men  and  thousands  are  winning  glory  under 
the  eagles  of  our  glorious  Emperor,  stays  at  home  to 
sell  butter  and  eggs!  Young  Pasquin,  my  child  shall 
never,  with  my  consent,  marry  any  one  who  is  not  a 
soldier.  It  will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  talk  to  me 
when  you  can  stand  before  me  with  the  Legion  of 
Honor  on  your  breast.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to 
give  my  daughter  to  a  poltroon?  Now  go,  and  do  not 
let  me  find  you  here  again." 

"  Oh,  father,"  cried  Marie,  "  you  are  unjust!  " 

"  Go,  I  say ! "  cried  Henri,  who  had  by  this  time 
worked  himself  into  a  passion. 

Pierre,  who  had  blushed  while  Henri  sneered  at  his 
occupation,  turned  pale  at  the  word  poltroon,  and 
clenched  his  hands.  Marie  had  never  before  seen 
such  an  expression  on  his  face.  She  sprang  up  and 
stood  before  her  father  and  looked  at  Pierre,  so  earn- 
estly, so  beseechingly.  She  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes 
said,  Oh,  go!  go! 

Pierre  bowed  his  head  and  left  the  room.  He 
crossed  the  Place  Grenette  slowly,  his  head  still  bowed 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  "  Stand  aside ! " 


30  THE  GRENADIER 

cried  the  driver  of  a  cabriolet  which  was  approaching 
at  a  rapid  pace.  He  called  twice  before  Pierre  heard 
him,  and  then  only  in  time  to  avoid  being  struck  by 
one  of  the  large  wheels.  "  Sacre ! "  muttered  the 
driver,  "  these  idle  fellows  deserve  to  be  run  down." 

Pierre  wandered  on.  Suddenly  the  sharp  ring  of 
horses'  hoofs  and  the  clank  of  sabres  made  him  look 
up.  He  had  reached  the  Place  St.  Andre.  A  squad- 
ron of  dragoons  were  crossing  it.  How  grand  they 
looked,  with  their  glittering  cuirasses,  their  crested  hel- 
mets, their  great  boots  and  long  military  cloaks! 
What  a  proud,  determined,  conquering  air  they  had! 
Pierre  watched  them  as  long  as  they  were  in  sight, 
then  he  turned  and  slowly  made  his  way  to  the  Rue 
Montorge. 

The  Widow  Pasquin  could  see,  when  he  entered, 
that  something  had  happened.  She  had  never  seen 
him  look  so  sad.  "  What  is  the  matter,  Pierre?  "  she 
asked. 

The  tears  came  to  Pierre's  eyes  and  then  he  told 
her  all.  She  listened  without  a  word,  but  when  he 
told  her  of  Henri's  taunts  and  of  the  word  "  poltroon  " 
which  he  had  used,  the  Widow  Pasquin  sat  erect  in 
her  chair  and  her  eyes  flashed.  When  he  had  finished 
she  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly,  and  in  her  look 
he  read  the  great  love  she  bore  him,  and  the  effort  the 
words  she  was  about  to  speak  cost  her.  Then  she  took 
his  hand.  "  My  son,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  keep  you 
back.  You  cannot  rest  happy  here.  Go,  since  you 
wish  it,  and  may  better  fortune  go  with  you  than  that 
which  went  with  Robert  and  pere  Amand." 


CHAPTER  III 
SARAGOSSA 

The  voices  are  mighty  that  speak  from  the  past, 

With  Aragon's  cry  on  the  shrill  mountain  blast, 

The  ancient  Sierras  give  strength  to  our  tread, 

Their  pines  murmur  song  when  bright  blood  hath  been  shed. 

Fling  forth  the  proud  banner  of  Leon  again, 

And  shout  ye  "  Castile!  to  the  rescue  for  Spain!  " 

— MRS.  HEMANS,  Ancient  Battle  Song. 

SINCE  the  loth  of  December,  1808,  the  French  Army 
had  laid  siege  to  Saragossa.  This  town  was  not  regu- 
larly fortified.  Surrounded  by  a  wall  of  brick  and 
granite,  without  either  bastions  or  terraces,  it  was  pro- 
tected on  one  side  by  the  river  Ebro,  and  on  the  other 
by  the  Castle  of  the  Inquisition  and  the  Convents  of 
the  Capuchins,  the  Augustins,  Santa  Engracia,  St. 
Joseph  and  Santa  Monica.  These  were  in  themselves 
real  fortresses  which  must  be  battered  down,  or  taken 
by  assault,  before  entrance  could  be  gained  into  the 
town. 

In  every  street  were  barricades  bristling  with 
cannon.  Great  stores  of  corn,  wine  and  cattle  had 
been  collected  in  the  city,  whose  population  was  now 
swelled  to  more  than  100,000  souls  by  the  inhabitants 
of  the  surrounding  country.  The  impetuous  Palafox 
was  their  commander,  assisted  by  his  brothers  Francis 
Palafox  and  the  Marquis  de  Lassan,  and  in  every 
public  place  a  gallows  warned  all  of  the  fate  awaiting 
those  who  should  speak  the  word  surrender. 


32  THE  GRENADIER 

Thus  Saragossa,  the  last  hope  of  the  obstinately  re- 
sisting Spaniards,  defied  the  power  of  Napoleon. 

Toward  evening  on  the  25th  of  January  a  detach- 
ment of  troops  arrived  in  the  French  camp.  They 
were  conscripts,  mainly  from  the  province  of 
Dauphine,  and  were  destined  to  form  part  of  one 
of  the  newly  raised  regiments,  the  H5th  of  the  Line. 
Some  of  them  now  saw  war  for  the  first  time,  and 
among  this  number  was  Pierre  Pasquin. 

The  26th  of  January  began  with  a  tremendous  can- 
nonade, as  fifty  guns  of  large  calibre  poured  their  shot 
and  shell  into  Saragossa.  The  H5th  of  the  Line  were 
stationed  in  the  trench  between  the  Convents  of  Santa 
Engracia  and  the  Capuchins.  Pierre,  who  had 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  escarpment,  could  see,  far 
on  the  left,  the  Castle  of  the  Inquisition,  where  were 
stationed  the  4oth  of  the  Line  and  the  I3th  cuiras- 
siers, who  were  to  repulse  any  sortie  that  might  be 
made  from  that  side.  Before  the  centre  towered  the 
massive  walls  of  Santa  Engracia,  now  battered  and 
broken  in  many  places  by  the  heavy  fire  of  the  breach- 
ing battery,  and  on  the  right  was  the  Convent  of  St. 
Joseph,  from  one  of  whose  towers  floated  the  tricolor 
and  about  which  were  stationed  the  Grandjean  divi- 
sion, consisting  of  the  I4th  and  44th  of  the  Line.  In 
the  centre,  next  to  the  H5th,  was  massed  the  Morlot 
division,  and  beyond  it  the  Musnier  division,  which 
consisted  principally  of  Poles,  fierce-looking  men,  with 
their  strange  uniforms  and  shaggy  beards,  who  had 
been  brought  from  the  far  north  to  battle  here  in 
Spain  under  the  banners  of  the  modern  Caesar. 

"  Down  from  that  escarpment! "  cried  a  corporal  of 
the  1 1 5th  who  was  passing.  Pierre  obeyed. 


SARAGOSSA  33 

"  Will  the  Emperor  be  here  to-day?  "  he  inquired. 

"  The  Emperor?  No,  he  has  gone  to  France,"  an- 
swered the  coq>oral. 

This  was  a  disappointment  to  Pierre.  He  had  hoped 
to  see  the  Emperor  and  to  fight  under  his  eyes.  All 
day  the  cannonade  continued,  and  the  Spaniards,  for- 
tified behind  their  walls,  endured  it  bravely.  The  sol- 
diers in  the  trenches  became  restless  and  impatiently 
awaited  the  order  for  a  general  attack.  Pierre  saw, 
in  the  distance,  a  man  on  horseback,  with  a  cocked  hat, 
and  the  broad  red  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
across  his  breast.  He  was  followed  by  four  aides-de- 
camp, and  Pierre  was  told  that  it  was  the  Marshal 
Lannes. 

At  noon  on  the  27th  the  order  was  given  to  assault 
the  town.  A  detachment  of  voltigeurs  of  the  I4th  and 
44th,  commanded  by  the  chef-de-bataillon  Stahl,  and 
having  at  their  head  a  company  of  sappers,  crossed 
the  Huerba  beyond  the  Convent  of  St.  Joseph  and 
occupied  an  oil  mill,  which  stood  somewhat  isolated 
not  far  from  the  wall.  As  they  advanced,  tremendous 
explosions  took  place,  for  the  Spaniards  foreseeing 
their  approach  from  that  direction,  had  mined  the 
ground  over  which  they  must  pass.  Then  a  hot  fire 
of  musketry  opened  upon  them  from  the  houses  and 
batteries  of  the  town.  Stahl  was  severely  wounded 
and  the  detachment  fell  back.  Some  grenadiers  of 
the  44th  now  made  their  way  toward  the  second 
breach,  mounted  it,  and,  under  the  command  of  the 
intrepid  Guettemann,  obtained  possession  of  the 
houses  next  the  wall  in  spite  of  the  furious  fire  of  the 
Spaniards.  A  column  of  voltigeurs  hastened  to  their 
aid  and  strove  to  enter  the  streets.  The  great  houses, 

8 


34  THE  GRENADIER 

loopholed  and  barricaded,  flashed  fire  on  every  side, 
as  skilled  marksmen,  hidden  behind  their  walls,  shot 
with  deadly  effect  among  the  French  troops. 

The  soldiers,  opening  interior  passages  from  the 
houses  they  had  captured  into  those  adjoining,  were 
enabled  to  proceed  as  far  as  the  Calle  Quemada,  one 
of  the  chief  streets  which  opened  into  the  great  boule- 
vard of  the  Cosso.  Here  a  galling  fire  from  the 
cannon  of  the  barricades  rendered  further  advance  im- 
possible. Meanwhile  a  furious  assault  was  being 
made  upon  the  Santa  Engracia  by  the  Poles  of  the 
Musnier  division  and  the  soldiers  and  officers  of  the 
engineers.  They  made  themselves  masters  of  the  con- 
vent, and  pushing  on  across  an  open  space,  approached 
the  Convent  of  the  Capuchins.  The  carabineers  of  the 
5th  light  infantry  at  the  same  time  made  a  charge  upon 
the  Capuchins,  and  these  two  forces  uniting  speedily 
took  the  convent  and  its  battery. 

And  now  the  H5th  of  the  Line,  whose  eagerness  to 
rush  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrades  had  long  been 
manifest,  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  "  En  avant! " 
shouted  the  Major.  They  dashed  forward  to  the  long 
wall  between  the  Santa  Engracia  and  the  Convent  of 
the  Capuchins,  entered  through  the  embrasures  and 
advanced  into  the  interior  of  the  town.  They  found 
themselves  in  the  street  of  Santa  Engracia.  On  one 
side  stood  the  enormous  Convent  of  the  Nuns  of  Jeru- 
salem, next  to  it  the  madhouse,  and  opposite,  the  Mon- 
astery of  St.  Francis.  The  Spaniards  concealed  in 
these  great  buildings  opened  a  terrific  fire  upon  the 
French. 

The  head  of  the  column  halted  and  suddenly  fell 
back  as  the  soldiers,  crowded  together  in  the  narrow 


SARAGOSSA  35 

street,  endeavored  to  return  the  fire  of  their  hidden 
foes.  Pierre  was  pushed  against  the  wall  of  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Nuns  of  Jerusalem  so  tightly  that  he  could 
not  move.  The  air  was  thick  with  smoke,  through 
which  came  the  bright  flashes  of  the  enemy's  fire. 
On  every  side  resounded  the  groans  and  curses  of  the 
soldiers  and  the  shouts  of  exultation  of  their  adver- 
saries. 

Suddenly  the  doors  of  the  Monastery  of  St.  Francis 
were  flung  open.  The  Spaniards  infuriated  by  the 
capture  of  their  walls  and  the  taking  of  the  Capuchin 
Convent,  were  no  longer  content  to  stand  on  the  de- 
fensive. They  came  to  battle  with  their  enemies.  A 
body  of  sharpshooters  of  Castanos'  army,  led  by  forty 
monks  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis  and  a  number  of 
Spanish  women,  whose  religious  fanaticism  roused 
them  to  frenzy,  rushed  out.  Shouting,  "  Death  to  the 
invaders!"  they  ran  toward  the  French.  The  women 
armed  with  long  knives  were  even  more  violent  than 
the  men  and  attacked  the  soldiers  with  unwonted  fury. 
It  was  a  hand-to-hand  conflict  there  in  the  street  of 
Santa  Engracia,  and  all  the  time  the  musketry  fire  con- 
tinued to  pour  upon  French  and  Spaniards  alike  from 
the  Convent  of  the  Nuns  of  Jerusalem.  A  part  of  the 
monks,  who  remained  grouped  upon  the  steps  of  the 
Monastery,  shouted  words  of  encouragement  to  their 
followers,  and  the  aged  white-haired  abbot  held  aloft 
his  great  gilded  crucifix  as  though  the  sight  of  this 
holy  emblem  would  paralyze  the  arms  of  his  enemies. 

The  French,  firing  at  short  range,  and  using  their 
bayonets  with  deadly  effect,  cut  their  way  to  the  mon- 
astery steps,  and  a  fierce  contest  took  place  between 
them  and  the  monks  gathered  there.  As  the  first 


36  THE  GRENADIER 

grenadier  dashed  up  the  steps,  the  aged  abbot  beat 
him  on  the  head  with  the  great  crucifix  and  stretched 
him  lifeless  on  the  stones.  In  a  moment  four  soldiers 
pierced  the  monk  with  their  bayonets,  and,  dropping 
the  crucifix,  he  fell  dead  upon  the  body  of  his  adver- 
sary. The  monks  defended  themselves  with  vigor, 
but  the  soldiers,  by  this  time  wild  with  fury,  cut  and 
stabbed  them  with  ferocity,  and  rushing  over  their 
dead  bodies  poured  into  the  interior  of  the  monastery. 
When  the  first  ranks  of  the  French  rushed  forward, 
Pierre  was  freed  from  the  pressure  which  had  held  him 
against  the  convent  wall  and  charged  with  the  other 
soldiers.  Just  in  front  of  him  was  a  great  voltigeur, 
and,  as  they  advanced,  a  Spanish  woman  with  flying 
hair,  wild,  haggard  eyes  and  bare  arms  smeared  with 
blood,  sprang  forward  and  stabbed  the  soldier  in  the 
arm.  With  a  terrible  oath  the  voltigeur  turned,  tore 
the  knife  from  her  hand  and,  seizing  her  by  her  long 
hair,  forced  her  to  her  knees,  as  he  stabbed  her  again 
and  again.  Pierre  felt  sick  at  heart  and  rushed  on 
toward  the  monastery.  The  dense  smoke  choked  and 
blinded  him,  the  tremendous  firing  almost  deafened 
him.  Suddenly  he  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  right  side, 
everything  swam  around  him  and  he  fell  to  the 
ground.  As  he  gradually  came  to  his  senses,  he  real- 
ized that  he  was  lying  on  his  face.  He  could  not 
move,  a  great  weight  seemed  to  press  upon  his  legs. 
He  felt  the  pain  in  his  side,  and  when  he  attempted  to 
struggle  to  sit  up,  it  became  so  sharp  that  he  fell  back 
helpless.  "  It  is  all  up  with  me,"  thought  Pierre. 
"  Soon  some  Spaniard  will  come  and  finish  me."  The 
street  was  full  of  smoke,  and  it  waa  so  dark  that  he 
could  see  nothing;  he  thought  night  must  have  come. 


SARAGOSSA  37 

The  firing  had  ceased  from  the  Convent  of  the  Nuns 
of  Jerusalem. 

How  different  it  all  was  from  what  he  had  expected! 
He  had  hoped  for  a  grand  charge,  like  the  one  Jean 
had  described,  to  the  inspiring  blast  of  the  trumpet, 
behind  the  white  plume  of  Murat,  and  under  the  eyes 
of  the  great  Emperor.  The  Emperor  was  far  away  in 
France,  and  here  was  war  stripped  of  all  its  grandeur, 
war  in  all  its  horror!  Burning  houses,  women  mas- 
sacred in  the  streets,  unseen  enemies  pouring  forth 
their  deadly  fire!  Around  him  were  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  and  the  groans  of  the  dying,  and,  as  he  lay  there 
on  the  rough  stones,  he  remembered  the  words  of  his 
mother,  "You,  too,  will  fall  like  Robert  and  pere 
Amand.  The  Pasquins  are  not  lucky!  " 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  SURRENDER 

The  horrid  war-whoop  and  the  shriller  scream 
Rose  still;  but  fainter  were  the  thunders  grown; 
Of  forty  thousand  who  had  manned  the  wall. 
Some  hundreds  breathed,  the  rest  were  silent  all! 

— BYRON,  Don  Juan. 

A  GHASTLY  spectacle  was  the  street  of  Santa  Engracia 
in  the  dawn  of  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  January. 
On  every  side  lay  heaps  of  dead,  while  guns,  knap- 
sacks, cartridge  boxes,  and  battered  timbers  were 
strewn  thickly  about  the  ground. 

Before  the  Convent  of  the  Nuns  of  Jerusalem  the 
fire  had  been  fiercest,  and  there  the  bodies  were  most 
numerous.  The  dead  voltigeurs  of  the  H5th  lay 
mingled  with  the  brigands  of  Castanos'  army,  while 
here  and  there  among  the  slain  might  be  seen  the 
corpse  of  some  poor  Spanish  woman,  who,  roused  to 
fury  by  religious  zeal,  had  perished  in  defense  of  all 
she  held  most  dear. 

The  Monastery  of  St.  Francis,  with  its  walls  black- 
ened by  powder  and  stained  with  blood  and  its  great 
doors  battered  and  torn  from  their  hinges,  remained 
in  the  possession  of  the  French.  Before  the  main  en- 
trance lay  the  monks,  and  upon  the  top  step  the  aged 
abbot,  his  white  hair  stained  with  blood,  while  above 
him  was  suspended  the  great  crucifix  which  some  sol- 
dier had  fastened  to  the  casing  of  the  door. 


THE  SURRENDER  39 

Two  soldiers  of  the  transport  corps  passed  through 
the  Santa  Engracia  on  the  morning  following  the  as- 
sault. "  There  is  a  fine  belt  on  that  Spaniard,"  said 
one,  "  I  mean  to  have  it."  He  went  toward  the  wall 
of  the  Monastery  of  St.  Francis,  where  several  bodies 
were  lying,  and  turned  over  the  corpse  of  a  burly 
Spaniard.  As  he  did  so,  a  deep  groan  came  from  the 
body  of  a  French  soldier,  across  whose  legs  the 
Spaniard  had  fallen. 

"  Here  is  one  not  yet  dead,"  said  the  transport  man 
to  his  companion.  "  We  must  carry  him  back  to 
camp.  The  Marshal  has  given  orders  to  bring  in  all 
the  wounded." 

"  He  is  a  young  fellow,"  said  the  other.  "  From  his 
uniform  he  must  belong  to  the  H5th.  He  has  been 
shot  in  the  side  and  has  bled  a  good  deal,"  he  added, 
raising  Pierre. 

The  man  who  had  first  spoken  had  meanwhile 
secured  the  brilliant  belt  which  had  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. He  joined  his  companion,  and  they  lifted  Pierre, 
one  supporting  his  head  and  shoulders,  the  other  car- 
rying his  legs.  They  bore  him  slowly  along  the  Santa 
Engracia,  out  through  the  embrasures  of  the  wall  and 
across  the  tete-de-pont  of  the  Huerba.  A  stone 
house,  which  stood  opposite  the  Santa  Engracia  at 
some  distance  from  the  Huerba,  was  used  by  the 
French  as  a  temporary  hospital,  and  here  the  transport 
men  conveyed  their  burden  and  surrendered  him  to 
the  army  surgeons. 

The  doctors  gave  the  wounded  man  some  nourish- 
ment, and  then  probed  his  wound,  extracting  a  bullet 
which  had  fastened  itself  in  the  muscles  of  his  side. 
The  operation  gave  Pierre  much  pain,  for  the  surgeons 


40  THE  GRENADIER 

were  in  a  hurry  and  did  not  handle  him  very  gently. 
At  last  it  was  over.  They  dressed  the  wound  and 
made  him  fairly  comfortable  upon  a  heap  of  straw. 
For  some  days  he  suffered  a  great  deal,  but  finally  his 
vigorous  constitution  got  the  better  of  his  malady  and 
by  the  middle  of  February  he  was  able  to  leave  his 
bed. 

Meanwhile,  the  siege  of  Saragossa  was  pressed  with 
vigor.  The  French  fought  their  way  from  street  to 
street,  but  every  house  was  a  fortress  which  must  be 
battered  down  or  taken  by  assault,  and  there  were 
some  houses  which  cost  whole  days.  Still,  Saragossa, 
with  her  defenders  stricken  by  fever,  famine  and  the 
sword,  her  dead  rotting  in  her  streets,  and  her  living 
wandering  about  like  gaunt  shadows,  refused  Mar- 
shal Lannes'  terms  of  capitulation  and  bade  the  French 
defiance. 

On  the  1 8th  of  February,  Pierre,  who  was  able  to 
leave  his  bed,  walked  toward  the  Huerba.  Near  by 
was  a  detachment  of  the  Grand] can  division.  The 
soldiers  were  gathered  about  an  old  red-faced  corporal, 
who  stood  gesticulating  emphatically,  upon  a  broken 
cannon.  Pierre  stopped  to  listen. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  war ! "  cried  the  old  cor- 
poral. "  Here  after  forty  days'  hard  fighting  we  have 
gained  possession  of  only  four  or  five  streets !  Are  we 
to  capture  the  whole  town  in  this  way?  We  shall  all 
perish!" 

"  What  is  the  Marshal  thinking  of?  "  said  another. 
"  Why  does  he  not  wait  for  reinforcements  and  bury 
these  devils  under  bombs  instead  of  sending  us  to  die 
in  taking  a  few  houses?  " 

At  this  moment  Pierre  saw  a  horseman  rapidly  ap- 


THE  SURRENDER  41 

preaching,  attended  by  a  single  aide-de-camp.  It  was 
the  Marshal  Lannes.  As  he  approached,  the  shout 
was  raised,  "Vive  le  Marechal  Lannes!"  but,  as  he 
reined  in  his  horse,  one  voice  cried  "To  France!" 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  Marshal,  looking  over  the 
crowd  of  bronzed,  scarred  faces  upturned  towards 
him,  "  my  friends,  you  are  suffering,  but  do  you  not 
suppose  the  enemy  suffers  also?  For  every  man  we 
lose  they  lose  four.  Do  you  suppose  they  will  defend 
all  their  streets  as  they  have  defended  some  of  them? 
They  are  at  the  end  of  their  strength.  Remember  the 
Emperor  is  awaiting  impatiently  the  news  of  our  suc- 
cess. Come,  my  friends,  a  few  more  efforts  and  Sara- 
gossa  will  be  ours!  " 

"  Vive  le  Marechal  Lannes ! "  cried  the  soldiers  as 
he  rode  away. 

"  Well,  Ajax  is  right,"  said  the  old  corporal.  "  Let 
us  finish  these  Spanish  devils." 

Pierre  had  been  watching  the  Marshal  intently  dur- 
ing the  brief  harangue,  but,  as  Lannes  rode  away,  the 
aide-de-camp,  who  followed,  passed  near  him,  and 
Pierre  suddenly  recognized  Jean  Deteau.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  spring  forward  and  cry  out — the  sight 
of  a  familiar  face  was  so  pleasant — but  in  a  moment 
Jean  was  gone,  following  the  Marshal,  who  rode 
rapidly  toward  the  Musnier  division.  Pierre  returned 
to  the  stone  hospital.  He  was  still  weak  and  walked 
slowly.  As  he  neared  the  building,  Marshal  Lannes 
rode  up  alone.  He  flung  himself  off  his  horse,  and 
threw  the  reins  to  Pierre,  remarking,  "  Hold  my 
horse."  Then,  entering  the  building,  he  dropped  into 
a  chair  near  the  door  and  passed  his  hand  wearily 
across  his  forehead,  and  Pierre  heard  him  mutter,  as 


42  THE  GRENADIER 

the  old  corporal  had  done,  "Was  there  ever  such  a 
war!" 

Pierre  watched  him  closely.  This  was  the  great 
Marshal  Lannes,  the  Emperor's  right  arm,  "  Ajax '" 
the  soldiers  called  him,  the  son  of  a  poor  mechanic, 
by  his  military  talents  and  the  fortunes  of  the  Emperor 
made  Marshal  of  France  and  Duke  of  Montebello. 
The  Marshal  was  well  built  and  of  middle  size.  His 
gold-embroidered  uniform  and  great  boots  were 
stained  with  mud,  across  his  breast  was  the  red  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  the  cross  hung  suspended 
from  his  buttonhole.  He  had  thrown  his  plumed  hat 
on  the  ground,  and  his  usually  open  and  pleasant 
countenance,  framed  by  his  dark,  curly  hair  and  short 
side  whiskers,  was  now  drawn  and  sad  as  he  sat  with 
one  leg  crossed,  supporting  his  head  on  his  hand,  ab- 
sorbed in  thought.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and 
looked  at  Pierre.  "  Boy,  can  you  write? "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  answered  Pierre. 
How  glad  he  was  that  the  Father  Augustin  had  taught 
him  well! 

"  Tell  one  of  those  men  to  hold  my  horse,"  said  the 
Marshal,  pointing  to  four  soldiers  of  the  Grandjean 
division  who  were  approaching,  "  and  come  here." 

Pierre  did  as  he  was  ordered. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  asked  Lannes. 

"  Pierre  Pasquin,  Monsieur  le  Marechal." 

"  What  regiment?  " 

"The  nsth  of  the  Line." 

The  Marshal  drew  out  a  tablet  and  handed  it  to 
Pierre,  who  seated  himself  upon  a  pile  of  straw  and 
wrote  rapidly  as  Lannes  dictated  several  orders.  As 


THE  SURRENDER  43 

he  finished,  an  aide-de-camp  rode  up.  "Well,"  cried 
the  Marshal  as  he  entered,  "are  the  mines  ready  to 
blow  up  the  university?  Have  you  seen  General 
Gazan?" 

"  The  mines  are  ready,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  an- 
swered the  aide-de-camp,  "  and  General  Gazan  is 
organizing  the  attack  on  the  faubourg." 

Pierre  recognized  the  voice  and  looked  quickly  up. 
"Oh,  Jean!"  he  cried. 

Jean  started,  a  look  of  surprise,  then  of  anger  passed 
over  his  face;  it  was  gone  in  an  instant;  he  smiled  and 
extended  his  hand.  "Why,  Pierre,  what  do  you  do 
here?" 

"You  know  him?"  inquired  the  Marshal. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  comes  from  Grenoble,  as  I  do,"  an- 
swered Jean. 

Pierre  handed  the  orders  to  the  Marshal,  who  re- 
marked, as  he  signed  them  rapidly,  "  You  write  well, 
young  Pasquin."  Then  he  turned  to  Jean.  "  Take 
these  at  once  to  Colonel  Rogniat  and  to  General 
Lacoste  and  rejoin  me  at  headquarters."  Jean  saluted 
and  rode  rapidly  away.  The  Marshal  rose,  Pierre 
sprang  forward  and  picked  up  his  hat.  "  Young  man, 
I  thank  you  for  serving  me  as  secretary,"  said  Lannes. 
He  motioned  to  the  voltigeur  to  bring  up  his  horse, 
mounted  and  rode  off  toward  General  Gazan's  division. 

Soon  the  cannonade  began  upon  the  convent  ad- 
joining the  bridge  of  the  Ebro,  and  a  tremendous  ex- 
plosion of  1600  pounds  of  powder  announced  that  the 
university  had  been  blown  up.  The  attack  on  the 
faubourg  by  the  Gazan  division,  led  by  Marshal 
Lannes  in  person,  was  successful,  while  the  Grandjean 
division,  grumbling  no  longer,  rushed  over  the  ruins 


44  THE  GRENADIER 

of  the  university  and  gained  possession  of  the  Boule- 
vard of  the  Cosso.  Thus  the  main  street  of  Saragossa 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  French.  Before  such  a  suc- 
cession of  disasters  the  Spaniards  gave  way,  and  sent 
a  flag  of  truce  in  the  name  of  Palafox  to  propose  terms 
of  capitulation.  Marshal  Lannes  met  the  envoy  near 
the  tete-de-pont  of  the  Huerba  and  demanded  an 
unconditional  surrender,  adding  that  he  would  blow 
up  the  centre  of  the  town  on  the  following  day  if  his 
terms  were  not  complied  with. 

Of  the  100,000  inhabitants  who  were  in  Saragossa 
at  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  54,000  had  already  per- 
ished, and  the  remainder,  stricken  by  fever,  were  on 
the  verge  of  starvation.  The  junta  of  defense  could 
hold  out  no  longer.  On  the  2ist  of  February  they 
surrendered  the  city,  and  the  garrison,  passing  out  of 
the  Portillo  gate,  laid  down  their  arms  and  became 
prisoners  of  war.  And  when  that  crowd  of  soldiers, 
peasants,  monks,  and  women,  gaunt,  ragged,  covered 
with  wounds  and  stained  with  blood,  defiled  before  the 
French  army  and  the  conquerors  rode  through  the 
bloody,  ruined  streets,  filled  with  putrid  corpses,  they 
felt  there  was  little  in  which  to  glory.  Here,  at  least, 
the  Spaniards  had  atoned  for  their  cowardice  in  the 
field,  and  maintained  against  their  adversaries  a  con- 
test memorable  in  history.  It  was  even  as  one  of  her 
defenders  has  expressed  it,  "  Saragossa,"  cried  the 
Spaniard  proudly,  "  has  spit  in  the  face  of  Napoleon ! " 


CHAPTER  V 
A  LETTER  FOR  THE  EMPEROR 

Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick? 

— SCOTT,  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

THE  envoys,  who  came  to  the  French  camp  bringing 
to  Lannes  the  acceptance  of  his  terms  of  surrender  by 
the  junta  of  defense,  were  unable  to  find  the  Mar- 
shal at  headquarters.  Colonel  Rogniat  informed  them 
that  he  had  gone  toward  the  Huerba.  They  made 
their  way  slowly  through  the  camp.  The  soldiers  of 
the  Morlot  and  Grandjean  divisions  looked  at  them 
sternly;  at  one  point  they  were  almost  run  down  by  a 
squadron  of  the  I3th  cuirassiers  coming  to  take  up 
position,  but,  finally,  they  found  the  Marshal  in  the 
stone  hospital  opposite  the  Santa  Engracia.  He  was 
unattended  and  busy  giving  orders  to  the  surgeons  for 
the  care  of  the  wounded,  who  had  been  brought  in 
after  the  bloody  fight  of  the  i8th. 

Pierre,  who  was  helping  one  of  the  surgeons  carry 
into  the  hospital  a  wounded  Pole  of  the  Musnier  divi- 
sion, passed  near  the  Marshal  and  the  Spanish  envoys. 
He  saw  that  Lannes  was  listening  to  their  statements 
with  evident  satisfaction,  and  as  he  dismissed  them  he 
remarked,  "  You  may  rely  upon  my  word." 

The  Marshal  came  into  the  hospital  just  as  the  sur- 
geon and  Pierre  were  placing  the  Pole  upon  a  heap 
of  straw. 

"  Young  Pasquin,  I  have  some  work  for  you,"  said 
Lannes.  Pierre  set  down  his  burden  and  hurried  for- 


46  THE  GRENADIER 

ward.  "  Come,  write,"  said  the  Marshal,  and  he  dic- 
tated two  letters,  one  to  the  Emperor  at  Paris,  the 
other  to  King  Joseph  at  Madrid. 

An  aide-de-camp  rode  up  and  saluted  the  Marshal. 
"  Here,  Deteau,"  said  Lannes,  folding  the  letter  to 
King  Joseph  which  he  had  signed,  "you  are  to  take 
this  to  Madrid  at  once.  Saragossa  has  capitulated. 
Where  is  d'Albuquerque?  " 

"  He  is  coming,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  replied  the 
aide-de-camp,  "I  left  him  near  Santa  Engracia.  Ah! 
there  he  is  now,"  he  added,  as  a  horseman  was  seen 
rapidly  crossing  the  tete-de-pont  of  the  Huerba. 

"  Good,"  said  the  Marshal,  who  was  signing  the 
letter  to  the  Emperor.  Suddenly  Deteau  uttered  an 
exclamation  and  hurried  forward.  The  horse,  coming 
rapidly  through  the  works  of  the  tete-de-pont,  had 
stumbled  and  thrown  his  rider.  D'Albuquerque 
struck  his  head  with  violence  against  one  of  the  heavy 
jagged  timbers  which  covered  the  ground  about  the 
tete-de-pont  and  lay  stunned  and  bleeding.  The  aide- 
de-camp,  assisted  by  Pierre  and  two  Poles,  raised  the 
wounded  man  and  carried  him  into  the  hospital.  His 
head  was  badly  cut  and  several  splinters  of  wood  were 
sticking  in  the  gashes. 

"  What  a  misfortune !  "  cried  the  Marshal,  stamping 
his  foot  impatiently.  "  D'Albuquerque  was  to  have 
gone  to  Paris.  You  cannot  go;  you  must  go  to 
Madrid,  you  know  the  road.  Marbot  is  not  yet  over 
his  wound.  This  must  go  to  Paris  at  once." 

"Young  Pasquin,  are  you  strong  enough  to  ride?" 
he  asked  suddenly,  turning  to  Pierre. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Pierre. 

"Then  you  shall  carry  my  letter  to  the  Baron 
Lejeune  whom  I  sent  yesterday  to  Tudela;  he  will  take 


A  LETTER  FOR  THE  EMPEROR         47 

it  on  to  Paris.  Deteau  goes  with  you  as  far  as  Alagon, 
from  there  you  will  go  over  the  road  you  have  already 
come.  Take  d' Albuquerque's  horse."  He  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  few  lines  on  his  tablet.  "  There,"  said  he, 
"  that  will  enable  you  to  get  relays  at  the  post-houses. 
Lose  no  time.  Give  my  letter  safe  to  the  Baron 
Lejeune  and  I  answer  for  your  promotion." 

Pierre  was  trembling  with  excitement;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  Marshal;  the  Marshal  was  engaged  in 
writing  his  order;  had  either  of  them  looked  at  Deteau 
they  would  have  seen  him  standing  with  folded  arms, 
his  brows  knit  in  an  angry  scowl  and  his  black  eyes 
glittering  wickedly  as  he  looked  at  Pierre.  "  I  will 
answer  for  that  promotion,"  he  muttered. 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  mounted,  and  were 
riding  rapidly  through  the  camp  and  out  into  the  level 
open  country  beyond.  The  road  ran  along  the  valley 
of  the  Ebro,  and  on  every  side  was  a  vast  undulating 
plain,  dry  and  barren,  enclosed  in  the  distance  by  long 
chains  of  reddish  hills.  Here  and  there  were  scattered 
the  ruins  of  a  few  miserable  villages,  whose  inhabitants 
had  fled  to  Saragossa  at  the  commencement  of  the 
siege.  Upon  some  of  the  heights  stood  the  blackened 
ruins  of  ancient  castles.  The  Ebro  wound  in  great 
curves,  sometimes  near  the  road,  sometimes  far  away, 
and  in  the  distance  could  be  faintly  seen  the  white 
summits  of  the  Pyrenees. 

"  Oh,  Jean,"  said  Pierre,  as  they  rode  rapidly  along, 
"to  think  that  I  should  carry  a  letter  for  the  Mar- 
shal!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  "  they  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  it 
in  Grenoble,"  and  he  began  to  whistle  the  "  Partant 
pour  la  Syrie  "  of  la  reine  Hortense  which  was  so  pop- 
ular in  the  army. 


48  THE  GRENADIER 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Henri  Jodelle  some  days  ago," 
he  said  after  a  time;  "  Marie  was  ill,"  and  he  watched 
Pierre  narrowly. 

Pierre  grew  pale.  Jean  saw  that  his  hand  trembled. 
"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  said. 

"  She  is  to  be  married  before  long,"  continued  Jean. 

"To  whom?"  cried  Pierre. 

"  I  do  not  know;  some  officer  of  dragoons,  I  think." 

They  rode  on  for  a  long  time  in  silence.  "  Marie  is 
to  be  married ! "  the  words  kept  ringing  in  Pierre's 
ears  louder  than  the  clatter  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon 
the  hard  road.  The  honor  of  his  mission,  the  hope  of 
promotion,  the  eagerness  for  glory  had  all  vanished 
from  his  mind. 

It  was  fast  growing  dark,  and  in  the  distance  could 
be  seen  the  lights  of  Alagon. 

"  There  is  Alagon,"  said  Jean,  as  they  rode  rapidly 
up  a  rising  ground.  "  I  leave  you  there ;  I  go  to 
Madrid  and  you  go  on  to  Tudela — with  your  letter  for 
the  Emperor! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  his  pistol  suddenly  from  his 
holster  and  fired  at  Pierre.  The  rapid  movement  of 
the  horses  and  the  darkness  rendered  his  aim  some- 
what unsteady,  but  the  ball  grazed  Pierre's  forehead. 
His  horse  sprang  forward,  he  lost  his  seat,  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground,  and  lay  there  stunned  and  senseless. 
Jean  reined  in  his  horse,  and  riding  back,  dismounted, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  prostrate  form. 
Then  he  laughed  quietly.  "  My  fine  fellow,  I  fancy 
the  Cafe  Jodelle  will  not  see  you  soon  again,  and  the 
Marshal  will  have  one  less  promotion  to  make."  He 
stooped,  and  cut  the  wallet,  which  contained  the  Mar- 
shal's letter;  then  springing  on  his  horse  he  galloped 
forward  in  the  darkness  toward  Alagon. 


CHAPTER  VI 
DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO 

O  woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou! 

— SCOTT,  Marmion. 

POOR  Dolores  La  Zorillo!  Her  thirteen  years  had  not 
been  happy  ones.  She  had  never  known  a  mother,  for 
the  Francisca  had  died  so  soon  after  Dolores  was 
born  that  she  could  not  remember  her.  She  lived  in 
an  old  crumbling  stone  house  in  Alagon  with  her 
granddame  Matesca  and  her  father  Rafael.  The  little 
house  was  only  one  story  high,  its  floor  was  made  of 
baked  earth,  and  about  its  walls  hung  coarse  pictures 
of  the  saints,  strings  of  melons,  crucifixes,  and  dried 
herbs.  When  Dolores  was  younger  she  had  slept  in 
a  sack  on  the  floor,  but  now  she  had  a  kind  of  bed  of 
straw,  with  a  quilt  of  which  she  was  quite  proud. 

She  saw  little  of  the  father  Rafael,  and  it  was  better 
so,  for  when  he  did  come  home  he  quarreled  always 
with  the  Matesca,  and  that  was  hard  to  bear.  What  a 
temper  he  had,  the  father  Rafael,  and  how  he  did 
swear!  And  how  cross  he  was  if  he  did  not  get  his 
mafiana,  or  morning  dram  of  aguardiente  flavored 
with  rosemary  and  a  chew  of  garlic  bulb,  which  could 


50  THE  GRENADIER 

be  bought  at  the  ventorillos  or  reed  huts  along  the 
road. 

Sometimes  he  would  take  too  much,  and  perhaps 
when  he  came  home  the  door  would  stick.  How 
angry  he  was  then!  "  Carajo!  "  he  would  cry,  kicking 
the  door,  "you  won't  open,  won't  you!  Dios  mio 
(my  God)  que  poineterra!  Santa  Barbara  bendita! 
(Blessed  be  Saint  Barbara).  Come  down  with  all  the 
saints  in  heaven  and  open  this  door! "  And  when, 
finally,  by  Saint  Barbara's  aid,  the  door  flew  open,  he 
would  cry,  "  Alavado  sea  Dios!"  (God  be  praised.) 

The  Matesca  was  somewhat  old  to  work,  and  so  it 
was  always  "  Dolores,  light  the  fire;  Dolores,  fetch  the 
water,"  for  it  was  little  indeed  that  the  father  Rafael 
would  ever  do.  "  I  prefer  to  smoke  and  eat  and 
sleep,"  said  he.  "  For  mi  eso  es  bastante  (that  is 
enough  for  me).  Had  I  a  stew  with  meat  in  it  every 
day  of  my  life,  then  should  I  be  happy! " 

So  little  Dolores  would  rise  early,  when  the  whistle 
of  the  sereno,  or  night-watchman,  sounded  to  call  the 
peasants  to  pannier  their  donkeys,  and  laden  with  fruit, 
be  off  to  the  nearest  fruit  market  And  she  would  go 
to  the  small  brick  shelf  with  its  two  little  holes,  called 
hornillas,  or  cooking-stoves,  and  put  in  the  charcoal 
and  fan  it  into  a  flame  by  shaking  to  and  fro  a  wisp  in 
front  of  the  outlet  from  the  hornilla.  Then  she  would 
mix  together  the  oil,  salt,  red  bird  pepper,  and  water, 
and  pour  it  into  the  brown  jar  half  full  of  beans  or 
potatoes  to  make  the  stew,  for  they  were  poor,  pobre 
de  solemnidad  (solemnly  poor)  and  could  afford  only 
the  cheap  stew  called  potaje,  and  not  any  of  those  finer 
stews  that  some  of  their  neighbors  had.  The  stew 
would  go  on  simmering  until  it  turned  to  a  thick  soup 


DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO  51 

and  then  they  would  sit  about  and  eat  it  out  of  the 
same  dish,  each  dipping  in  with  a  wooden  spoon. 
Thus  there  was  always  work  for  the  little  Dolores,  and 
some  mornings,  when  the  Matesca  had  had  a  bad 
night  or  the  father  Rafael  not  enough  to  buy  his 
manana,  there  was  the  stick  too. 

So  it  was  a  hard  life,  and  there  was  only  one  friend, 
and  that  was  Beppo  the  donkey.  When  the  stick  had 
been  laid  on  hard  and  the  little  back  ached  dreadfully, 
Dolores  would  run  out  to  the  dirty  stable  and  throw 
her  arms  about  Beppo's  neck  and  say,  "  You  love  me, 
don't  you,  Beppo?  "  Beppo  never  answered;  he  stood 
meekly,  as  was  his  wont,  occasionally  wiggling  his 
long  ears.  But  Dolores  knew  what  he  meant  without 
his  answer. 

She  was  a  comely  little  girl,  Dolores  La  Zorillo ;  her 
features  were  delicate,  her  small  hands  and  feet  beauti- 
fully shaped,  and  she  wore  her  thick  hair  rolled  up  at 
the  back  in  a  square,  spreading  plait.  And  sometimes, 
when  she  went  to  the  Plaza  de  Fruta,  or  Market 
Square,  and  saw  the  titerero,  the  comedian  from  the 
capital,  her  pensive,  melancholy  face  would  be  bright- 
ened by  a  naive  smile. 

She  liked  to  go  to  the  Plaza  de  Fruta,  and  would 
put  on  her  tiny  green  shawl  and  short  red  gown  and 
go  there  sometimes  to  dance  the  bolero,  hoping  to 
earn  a  few  cuartos  (farthings).  And  it  often  happened 
that  a  majo,  or  dandy,  who  passed  by  in  his  tight  black 
jacket  and  trousers,  crimson  sash  and  plaited  pigtail, 
saw  her  dancing,  and  said,  "There  is  a  pretty  girl, 
dancing  the  bolero,"  and  threw  her  a  real. 

It  was  a  great  place,  that  Plaza  de  Fruta.  A  wide- 
spreading  stone  quadrangle  divided  into  portions  for 


52  THE  GRENADIER 

the  tiendas,  or  shops  of  the  venders  of  meats,  dried 
fish  and  vegetables.  In  the  meat  stalls  were  pork, 
lamb,  and  goat's  flesh  cut  into  all  manner  of  odds  and 
ends  for  stewing  in  the  savory  olla.  There  were  bacon 
and  sausage  in  abundance,  too,  and  in  the  grocers' 
stalls  were  lentils,  garbanzos,  haricot  beans,  rice,  garlic, 
oil,  dried  figs,  quinces,  turnips,  hard  and  stringy  beet- 
root, the  acelga  or  white  vert,  gourds,  tomatoes,  sage, 
mint  and  green  parsley. 

Though  the  Aragonese  were  mainly  agriculturists, 
yet  some  of  them  were  soldiers  and  smugglers,  and  all 
were  guerrilleros  par  excellence.  The  men  wore 
breeches  of  common  cotton,  ornamented  about  the 
pockets  with  filigree  buttons  and  old  medios  reales  in 
silver,  blue  woolen  stockings  and  sandals,  and  short 
black  waistcoats  which  showed  the  wide  red  cotton 
faja,  or  sash.  Gay-colored  cotton  or  silk  handker- 
chiefs were  tied  about  their  heads,  so  that  the  two  ends 
hung  down  behind,  and  above  all  was  the  sombrero. 

The  women  had  sandals,  short  flannel  skirts,  shawls 
of  bright  colors,  and  handkerchiefs  tied  about  their 
heads.  Dolores  liked  to  watch  them  all,  coming  and 
going,  stopping  at  the  stalls  and  filling  their  baskets, 
chatting,  laughing,  and  passing  on.  Some  of  them 
looked  happy,  she  thought.  She  liked  to  see  the  wine- 
seller,  with  his  heavy  boots  of  untanned  leather,  thick 
woolen  jacket  and  rusty  brown  trousers,  who  drove  his 
mules  laden  with  skins  of  rich  red  wine  (vino  tinto)  or 
pale  val  de  penas,  which  the  peasants  called  "  leche  de 
los  ancianos "  (old  folks'  milk),  and  above  all  she 
liked  to  see  the  titerero,  who  came  sometimes  to  play 
his  tricks  in  the  Plaza. 

But  all  that  was  over  now,  for  terrible  times  had 


DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO  53 

come,  and  the  country  was  full  of  the  dreadful  soldiers 
of  the  "  frances."  The  father  Rafael  had  gone  to  join 
Castanos'  army,  and  every  peasant  boy  who  was  old 
enough  to  wear  the  faja,  or  sash,  and  the  navaja,  or 
clasp-knife,  the  signs  of  his  manhood,  had  gone  too. 

Dolores  could  no  longer  go  to  the  Plaza  to  dance 
the  bolero,  for  the  Plaza  was  full  of  the  frances  sol- 
diers. 

Then  the  priest  at  the  Church  of  San  Antonio  de 
Padua  taught  Dolores  her  catechism. 

"  Child,  what  art  thou?  " 

"  A  Spaniard,  by  the  grace  of  God." 

"  Who  is  our  enemy?  " 

"The  Emperor  of  the  French." 

"  What  is  the  Emperor  Napoleon  ?  " 

"  A  wicked  being,  the  source  of  all  evils  and  the 
focus  of  all  vices." 

"  How  many  natures  has  he?  " 

"Two:  the  human  and  the  diabolical." 

"  How  many  Emperors  of  the  French  are  there?  " 

"  One  actually,  in  three  deceiving  persons." 

"What  are  they  called?" 

"  Napoleon,  Murat,  and  Manuel  Godoy." 

"  Which  is  the  most  wicked?  " 

"  They  are  all  equally  so." 

"  What  are  the  French?  " 

"  Apostate  Christians,  turned  heretics." 

"  What  punishment  does  a  Spaniard  deserve  who 
fails  in  his  duty?" 

"  The  death  and  infamy  of  a  traitor." 

"  Is  it  a  sin  to  kill  a  Frenchman?  " 

"  No,  my  father ;  heaven  is  gained  by  killing  one  of 
these  heretical  dogs." 


54  THE  GRENADIER 

Dolores  learned  it  all  carefully,  but  she  didn't  under- 
stand it  all.  This  much,  however,  she  did  know,  that 
it  was  harder  now  to  get  enough  for  the  potaje,  that 
the  Matesca  was  always  in  a  tremor  of  terror  or  rage, 
that  the  stick  struck  more  often,  that  there  was  only 
one  friend  and  that  was  Beppo  the  donkey. 

One  evening  the  Matesca  ordered  Dolores  to  go 
early  in  the  morning  with  Beppo  and  the  cart  to 
Casitas,  not  far  away,  and  bring  back  a  bag  of  beans 
which  old  Pedro,  the  Matesca's  brother,  had  promised 
to  send  her.  So  early  in  the  morning,  just  as  the  gray 
dawn  appeared  upon  the  hills,  even  before  the  time 
that  the  whistle  of  the  sereno  used  to  blow  in  past  days, 
Dolores  started,  driving  Beppo  in  the  little  creaking 
cart.  They  passed  out  of  the  town  and  on  to  the  high- 
road beyond.  "  Come,  hurry,  Beppo,"  said  Dolores. 
Beppo  could  not  go  very  fast,  for  he  had  not  had  much 
to  eat  for  many  days,  but  he  trotted  along  as  best  he 
could,  and  Dolores  sat  in  the  creaking  cart. 

"  Why,  Beppo !  There  is  a  man  lying  in  the  road," 
said  Dolores,  and,  as  they  came  nearer,  she  said,  "  He 
is  a  dead  frances." 

The  soldier  was  lying  on  his  back,  his  uniform 
splashed  with  mud,  and  his  thick  dark  hair  clustering 
about  his  white  forehead.  Dolores  stopped  the  cart 
and  looked  at  him.  "  He  is  nice-looking,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  rather  sorry  he  is  dead.  Come,  Beppo."  But 
as  Beppo  started  he  struck  his  hoof  against  the  foot  of 
the  prostrate  soldier,  and  the  man  groaned  and  opened 
his  eyes.  "Why,  you  are  not  dead  after  all!"  said 
Dolores.  "  You  are  a  wicked  frances  though,  and  so 
I  ought  to  wish  you  dead.  But  somehow  I  don't," 
she  added. 


DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO  55 

"  Qui  etes-vous,  mademoiselle?  "  asked  the  soldier 
feebly. 

"  Yo  se  ninguno  frances  "  (I  know  no  French),  said 
Dolores,  and  so  the  conversation  stopped. 

"  He  is  a  nice-looking  frances,"  said  Dolores  to  her- 
self. "  What  would  the  Matesca  say  if  I  should  help 
a  frances?  Beppo,  would  you  help  a  frances  if  he 
were  nice-looking  like  this  one?"  But  Beppo  didn't 
answer;  he  stood  meekly,  as  was  his  wont,  occasionally 
wiggling  his  long  ears.  .,- 

"  Jusqu'ou  est-il  a  Alagon?  "  said  the  soldier,  raising 
himself  a  little  with  one  arm. 

Dolores  could  only  understand  the  one  word 
"  Alagon."  "  You  want  to  go  to  Alagon?  "  she  asked, 
pointing  to  the  town.  The  soldier  nodded.  "  Well," 
said  Dolores,  "  I  will  take  you  to  Alagon."  She 
jumped  down  from  the  little  cart  and  helped  the  soldier 
clamber  into  it.  Then  she  rolled  up  her  small  shawl 
and  slipped  ft  under  his  head.  Beppo  started  and  the 
cart  creaked  slowly  on  while  Dolores  walked  by  the 
side.  "  I  don't  know  what  the  Matesca  would  do," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  if  she  knew  I  helped  a  frances." 

They  came  to  the  stone  fountain  which  stood  near 
the  gate  of  the  town,  and  Dolores  filled  the  tin  cup  with 
water  and  brought  it  to  the  soldier,  saying,  "  Toma, 
para  echar  un  traguito  "  (here  is  something  to  drink). 
He  took  it  and  smiled.  "  He  is  nice-looking,"  said 
Dolores. 

She  drove  Beppo  on  to  the  Plaza  de  Fruta,  where  a 
detachment  of  French  troops  were  quartered.  Dolores 
had  seen  the  soldiers  many  times  in  the  town,  and  as 
they  did  not  chase  her  with  their  bayonets  as  she  had 
supposed  they  would  do,  she  had  rather  lost  her  fear 


56  THE  GRENADIER 

of  them.  She  waited  until  the  soldier  was  removed 
from  the  cart  and  then  she  drove  away. 

Pierre  lay  on  his  straw  and  thought  of  his  situation. 
He  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  Saragossa  and  see  the 
Marshal,  but  then  how  could  he  suppose  that  the  Mar- 
shal would  credit  his  story?  He  fancied  himself  telling 
it  all  and  Lannes  saying  sternly,  "  Young  Pasquin,  do 
you  expect  me  to  believe  that  my  aide-de-camp  Deteau 
attempted  to  kill  you?  The  thing  is  absurd! "  Then 
he  thought  of  what  Deteau  had  said  regarding  Marie 
and  wondered  if  it  were  true.  Ah,  those  were  three 
wretched  days  he  passed  at  Alagon. 

His  wound  was  not  serious  and  he  was  soon  able  to 
be  about  again,  but  he  was  stiff  and  lame  from  the  fall 
from  his  horse  and  lying  all  night  on  the  damp  ground. 
He  was  preparing  to  go  back  to  the  Marshal  and  tell 
his  story  as  best  he  could,  when  the  roll  of  drums  was 
heard  in  the  direction  of  Saragossa.  The  captain  com- 
manding the  detachment  stationed  at  Alagon  ordered 
out  his  men,  and  Pierre  hurried  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  As  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  narrow  street 
at  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  he  saw  in  the  doorway  of 
a  tumble-down  stone  house  the  little  Spanish  girl 
whom  he  remembered  so  well  and  whom  he  had  been 
hoping  to  see  again.  Pierre  went  up  to  her  and  held 
out  a  small  gilt  crucifix;  it  was  all  he  had  to  give  her. 
"  Merci,  mademoiselle,"  he  said.  She  could  not 
understand  him,  but  she  took  the  cross  and  smiled. 

Along  the  road,  with  drums  rolling,  bugles  sounding, 
arms  flashing,  sabres  clanking  and  plumed  officers  on 
prancing  steeds,  came  the  H5th  of  the  Line  and  the 
1 3th  cuirassiers. 

"  We  are  ordered  back  to  France! "  cried  the  Major 


DOLORES  LA  ZORILLO  57 

as  he  passed  the  captain  commanding  the  detachment 
stationed  at  Alagon. 

"  A  la  France!  a  la  France!  Vive  1'Empereur!  "  the 
soldiers  of  the  H5th  shouted  joyfully. 

The  band  of  the  regiment  struck  up  "  Le  Chant  du 
Depart,"  Pierre  fell  in  in  the  rear  line,  and  they 
marched  on,  the  colors  flying,  the  bayonets  of  the 
infantry  and  the  helmets  of  the  cuirassiers  glittering  in 
the  sunshine. 

Standing  in  the  doorway  of  her  crumbling  home 
and  holding  in  her  hand  the  small  gilt  crucifix,  little 
Dolores  La  Zorillo  watched  them  as  long  as  they  were 
in  sight,  saying  softly,  "  Adios,  Senor  Frances." 


CHAPTER  VII 

AUX   TUILERIES 

J'ai  trouve  la  couronne  de  France  par  terre,  et  je  1'ai 
ramassee  avec  la  pointe  de  mon  epee. — Napoleon. 

IT  was  half-past  six  in  the  morning  when  Constant 
Very,  premier  valet-de-chambre  to  His  Majesty, 
dressed  in  his  green  and  gold  coat,  white  silk  stockings 
and  black  knee  breeches,  entered  the  bedroom  of  the 
Emperor.  He  crossed  the  room,  opened  the  tightly 
closed  shutters  and  let  in  the  light.  The  walls  of  the 
apartment  were  hung  with  heavy  Lyons  brocade.  The 
gilded  ceiling  was  painted  with  figures  of  Mars,  Jupiter 
and  Apollo,  while  the  armorial  bearings  and  cipher  of 
the  Emperor  decorated  the  cornice. 

Opposite  the  windows,  upon  a  platform  covered  with 
velvet,  stood  the  bed.  A  few  chairs  upholstered  with 
Gobelin  tapestry  and  a  large  chiffonnier  with  brass 
ornaments  constituted  the  only  furniture.  This  room 
had  been  formerly  the  bedchamber  of  Louis  XVI. 

"  Ah,  Constant ! "  said  the  Emperor,  sitting  up  in 
bed,  "  open  the  windows  that  I  may  breathe  the  good 
air  which  God  has  made." 

As  soon  as  the  apartment  was  aired,  Napoleon 
jumped  out  of  bed,  and  still  keeping  on  his  head  the 
bandana  in  which  he  had  slept,  threw  his  dressing- 
gown  about  him,  thrust  his  feet  into  an  old  pair  of 
red  slippers  and  sat  down  before  the  fire,  saying  to 


AUX  TUILERIES  59 

Constant,  "  Call  Meneval."  The  private  secretary  en- 
tered. 

"  Where  are  my  letters?  "  said  the  Emperor. 

Meneval  handed  them  to  him  and  Napoleon  himself 
broke  the  seals  and  went  rapidly  through  their  con- 
tents. 

"  Here,  Meneval,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  Gamier 
wants  to  paint  my  portrait.  Well,  I  give  him  leave, 
but  I  have  no  time  to  give  him  sittings.  He  shall 
paint  me  in  my  cabinet  and  you  shall  be  there  writing 
from  my  dictation.  What  is  this?  Canova  wants  to 
make  another  statue  of  me.  Never !  I  will  go  through 
no  more  of  those  tedious  sittings.  The  municipality  of 
Paris  beg  leave  to  give  a  ball  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
Yes,  let  them  give  it,  let  it  be  magnificent.  Josephine 
shall  go,  but  as  for  me,  I  have  no  time  to  dance." 

"  This  from  the  King  of  Prussia,"  said  the  Emperor, 
taking  up  another  letter,  "  informs  me  that  I  am  his 
very  dear  brother.  Oh,  I  know  that  already;  I  shall 
continue  to  be  so  as  long  as  I  am  lucky.  I  know  the 
Berlin  cabinet.  The  Queen  is  sovereign  there.  Mar- 
shal Victor  writes  me  that  Prince  Augustus  of  Prussia 
is  behaving  badly  again.  That  does  not  surprise  me. 
He  is  a  man  of  no  intelligence.  He  spent  his  time  in 
making  love  to  Madame  de  Stael  at  Coppet.  He  could 
gain  only  bad  principles  there.  He  shall  be  informed 
that  the  first  time  he  says  anything  I  will  lock  him  up 
in  a  fortress  and  send  Madame  de  Stael  to  comfort 
him.  What  is  this?  Here  is  a  poor  woman,  the  wife 
of  a  soldier  who  fell  at  Friedland,  who  tells  me  that 
she  is  perishing  from  want.  Look  you,  Meneval,  she 
is  to  have  a  pension  of  a  thousand  francs.  Date  it 
back  two  years  and  see  that  the  arrears  are  given  to 


60  THE  GRENADIER 

her  at  once.  And  as  for  these,"  said  Napoleon,  scat- 
tering the  other  letters  over  the  carpet,  "  there  is  my 
answer.  Come,  Meneval,  bring  your  papers."  And 
he  rose  hastily  and  went  into  his  bathroom. 

"Well,  what  is  the  news?"  inquired  the  Emperor, 
getting  into  his  tub  and  turning  on  the  hot  water. 

Meneval  unfolding  his  papers  began  with  the 
"  Moniteur."  "  His  Imperial  and  Royal  Majesty," 
read  the  secretary,  "returned  yesterday  from  Spain, 
where  the  glories  of  his  arms  have " 

"  Bah!  "  said  the  Emperor.  "  Pass  over  all  that.  I 
know  it  already.  They  say  only  what  they  think  will 
please  me.  Read  the  English  papers.  I  am  well  cut 
up  there,  I  warrant  you." 

"  I  do  not  find  anything,  Your  Majesty." 

"Nothing!"  said  the  Emperor.  "Well,  there  will 
be  plenty  to-morrow,  then.  It  is  an  intermittent  fever, 
but  look  carefully,  Meneval.  Look  for  the  '  Corsican 
Ogre  '  or  '  Bonaparte  the  Usurper,'  you  will  find  some- 
thing. Perhaps  now  I  have  shot  Lannes  in  Spain  as 
I  shot  Desaix  at  Marengo.  Surely  now  I  have  poi- 
soned some  one  or  beaten  Josephine.  Look  carefully, 
Meneval." 

"  Here,  sire,"  said  Meneval,  "  is  a  short  article 
headed,  '  Buonaparte  and  His  Secretary.'  '  The  other 
evening  Buonaparte  was  seated  in  his  cabinet  and  Lad 
called  in  a  young  secretary  named  Meneval  in  whom 
he  had  confidence.  He  told  him  to  hold  a  light  while 
he  read.  The  secretary  put  the  light  so  close  to  Buon- 
aparte's head  that  it  caught  fire,  and  Buonaparte, 
thinking  that  an  attack  was  being  made  on  his  life, 
seized  a  pistol  which  he  always  carries  about  him  and 
fired  point-blank  at  his  secretary,  killing  him  instantly. 
Buonaparte  showed  no  remorse  for  the  deed.'  " 


AUX  TUILERIES  61 

"  Well,  Meneval,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  that  is  a  fine 
obituary  notice  for  you." 

" '  It  is  further  reported,' "  continued  the  secretary, 
"  '  that  a  few  days  ago  Buonaparte  got  in  a  furious  pas- 
sion with  Maret,  his  Secretary  of  State,  rushed  at  him, 
knocked  him  down  and  dragged  him  about  by  the 
hair  of  his  head,  kicking  him  shamefully.  Then  he 
tried  to  hush  the  matter  up  by  dictating  to  him  a  decree 
giving  him  a  large  forest  estate.  Such  is  Buona- 
parte.' " 

"  La  verite  seule  blesse,"  said  the  Emperor,  laughing 
and  again  turning  on  the  hot  water. 

The  room  was  now  so  full  of  steam  that  Meneval 
rose  and  opened  the  door. 

"When  are  you  going  to  be  married,  Meneval?" 
inquired  the  Emperor,  as  he  left  the  bath. 

"  I  do  not  know,  sire." 

"  Well,  let  it  be  soon,  I  will  provide  for  you." 

Napoleon  slipped  on  a  flannel  waistcoat  and  dress- 
ing-gown of  white  dimity  and  tied  his  handkerchief 
around  his  head.  Constant  handed  him  a  cup  of 
orange-flower  water  on  a  gilt  salver  from  his  great 
traveling  case,  and  the  Emperor,  sitting  down  by  the 
fire,  dictated  two  letters  to  Meneval.  Meanwhile  the 
valets  had  prepared  the  dressing-room. 

"Who  are  in  the  salon?"  asked  Napoleon  as  he 
finished. 

"  M.  de  Remusat,  M.  Corvisart  and  MM.  Fontaine 
and  Barbier,  sire,"  replied  Constant. 

"  Admit  them,"  said  the  Emperor,  passing  into  his 
dressing  room.  There  he  found  the  Mameluke  Rous- 
tan,  who,  dressed  in  his  picturesque  Oriental  costume 
with  his  crimson  and  gold  turban,  was  holding  the 


62  THE  GRENADIER 

shaving-mirror.  Constant  presented  the  basin  and 
soap. 

"  Well,  big  quack,"  cried  the  Emperor  as  Corvisart 
entered,  "  how  many  people  have  you  killed  to-day?  " 

"  As  Your  Majesty  is  my  first  patient,"  answered  the 
physician,  "  I  have  killed  none  so  far." 

The  Emperor  laughed  and  covered  one  side  of  his 
face  with  the  lather,  splashing  it  all  about  him.  He 
picked  up  his  razor,  the  pearl  handle  of  which  was 
inlaid  with  gold,  and  shaved  the  side  of  his  face  rapidly 
from  the  top  downward. 

"  Fontaine,"  said  he,  addressing  the  architect,  "  how 
is  the  Colonne  Vendome  progressing?  " 

"  Rapidly,  sire,  your  statue  is  nearly  ready  to  be 
raised  to  the  top." 

"  If  I  had  my  way,"  said  the  Emperor,  lathering  the 
other  side  of  his  face,  "  that  part  would  be  left  to 
posterity.  The  statues  of  a  man  put  up  in  his  lifetime 
are  likely  to  be  pulled  down.  Am  I  well  shaved, 
Constant?  " 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"  Ah,  you  rogue,"  said  the  Emperor,  pulling  his  ear, 
"  there  are  still  some  hairs  on  the  chin.  Why  do  you 
say  I  am  well  shaved?"  He  quickly  removed  them 
and  plunged  his  head  into  the  great  basin  of  his  silver 
washing-stand. 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  with  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
on  the  Carrousel?  "  continued  the  Emperor,  picking 
up  a  little  pair  of  scissors  and  trimming  his  nails  care- 
fully. His  hands  were  beautiful,  and  he  took  great 
care  of  them. 

"  It  is  nearly  finished,  sire,"  said  M.  Fontaine. 

"Triumphal   arches,"   said    Napoleon,   "would   be 


AUX  TUILERIES  63 

futile  works  and  productive  of  no  effect  whatever  and 
I  should  not  have  ordered  them  had  I  not  thought  that 
this  was  a  means  of  encouraging  architecture.  I  wish 
to  stimulate  sculpture  in  France  by  means  of  these 
triumphal  arches  for  ten  years.  The  Minister  of  the 
Interior  is  to  ertjt  another  at  the  Etoile.  One  must 
be  the  Arch  of  Marengo  and  the  other  the  Arch  of 
Austerlitz.  I  shall  have  another  built  in  some  other 
part  of  Paris  which  will  be  the  Arch  of  Peace  and 
another  the  Arch  of  Religion." 

The  Emperor's  scissors  did  not  cut  well  and  he  threw 
them  into  the  fire.  Then  he  took  off  his  flannel  waist- 
coat while  Constant  poured  eau  de  cologne  upon  his 
head  and  shoulders  and  two  valets  scrubbed  him  with 
stiff  brushes.  "  Come,  harder,  harder,"  cried  the  Em- 
peror, "  brush  as  though  you  were  rubbing  an  ass!  " 

He  rapidly  put  on  his  flannels,  his  white  silk  stock- 
ings and  his  white  kerseymere  breeches. 

"  Barbier,"  said  he  to  the  librarian,  "  I  have  drawn 
up  a  scheme  for  a  portable  library  to  carry  with  me  on 
campaign.  There  are  many  works  on  history,  litera- 
ture and  science  which  do  not  exist  in  I2mo  and 
i8mo  editions.  I  mean  to  have  such  translated  and 
reprinted  and  carry  with  me  in  boxes  with  compart- 
ments. Have  you  examined  carefully  the  data  I  sent 
you  from  Marrac?  " 

"  Yes,  sire,"  replied  Barbier. 

At  this  moment  Duroc,  Grand  Marshal  of  the 
Palace,  entered  unannounced,  for  he  had  the  entree 
at  all  hours. 

"  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  I  want 
to  go  over  the  budget  for  the  Imperial  household  with 
you  this  morning.  Bring  it  to  my  cabinet  We  must 


64  THE  GRENADIER 

retrench  on  1808.  Three  million  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  are  too  much.  There  is  waste  somewhere. 
How  many  pounds  of  sugar  are  consumed  weekly  by 
my  household?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sire." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know.  I  must  know  this 
morning.  Three  millions  are  all  I  shall  allow  for  1809. 
I  am  determined  to  save  that  five  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

The  Emperor  had  buckled  on  his  sword-belt  and 
put  on  his  white  kerseymere  waistcoat,  and  was  now 
putting  on  his  green  coat  of  the  chasseurs  a  cheval  of 
the  Guard  with  its  red  collar  and  cuffs. 

"  Remusat,"  said  Napoleon,  addressing  the  Grand 
Master  of  the  Wardrobe,  "what  do  I  pay  for  my 
coats?" 

"  Two  hundred  and  forty  francs,  Your  Majesty." 

"  That  is  too  much,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  that  tailor 
Chevalier  is  continually  raising  his  prices.  He  thinks 
no  doubt  that  you  are  the  officer  of  some  great  lord. 
Why  should  I  pay  more  than  others?  Moreover,"  he 
added,  "it  is  most  unseemly  that  tradesmen  should 
present  their  bills  to  me.  Not  long  ago  at  St.  Cloud, 
when  I  was  in  my  caleche  with  the  Empress  at  my 
side  and  in  the  midst  of  an  immense  concourse  of 
people,  I  found  myself  called  upon  all  of  a  sudden  in 
the  Eastern  fashion,  as  if  I  had  been  the  Sultan  going 
to  Mosque,  by  a  man  who  had  worked  for  my  person 
and  claimed  a  considerable  sum,  the  payment  of  which 
had  been  long  refused  him.  In  future  I  will  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  my  wardrobe.  Take  care, 
M.  de  Remusat,  that  you  allow  no  debts  to  accumu- 
late." 


AUX  TUILERIES  65 

At  a  few  minutes  before  nine  the  Chamberlain  of  the 
day,  in  his  scarlet  coat  embroidered  in  silver,  his  white 
waistcoat  and  knee  breeches,  knocked  at  the  door  to 
announce  the  lever.  The  Emperor,  who  never  carried 
watch  or  money,  took  from  the  hands  of  Constant  his 
handkerchief,  his  eye-glass,  his  bonbonnier,  his  snuff- 
box, and  finally  his  famous  petit  chapeau,  and  at  nine 
o'clock  precisely  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  the 
usher  on  duty  announced  "  The  Emperor,"  and  he 
entered  the  salon  where  were  assembled  the  great  offi- 
cers of  the  Crown  and  the  officers  of  the  household  on 
duty.  In  front  stood  M.  de  Talleyrand,  Grand  Cham- 
berlain, in  his  scarlet  coat  embroidered  in  silver;  then 
M.  de  Segur,  Grand  Master  of  Ceremonies,  in  violet; 
the  Grand  Huntsman  and  Lieutenant  of  the  Hunt  in 
green;  M.  Bausset,  Prefect  of  the  Palace,  in  purple; 
the  Equerry  in  blue;  Cardinal  Fesch,  Grand  Almoner, 
in  his  ecclesiastical  cassock;  Daru,  Intendant  General, 
the  Crown  Treasurer,  and  M.  Pasquier,  Prefect  of 
Police.  The  lever  was  short  and  formal.  The  Em- 
peror passed  about  the  circle,  giving  briefly  to  each  one 
his  orders.  He  said  nothing  to  M.  de  Talleyrand.  As 
he  came  to  the  Prefect  of  Police  he  inquired: 

"  How  many  bags  of  wheat  are  there  now  in  the 
grain  market?" 

"  About  20,000,  sire,"  replied  M.  Pasquier. 

"  You  ought  to  know  exactly,  sir,"  said  the  Em- 
peror, who  demanded  exact  answers.  In  future  M. 
Pasquier,  whose  memory  was  somewhat  defective,  car- 
ried a  note-book. 

In  a  few  moments  the  lever  was  ended,  and  by  a 
slight  bow  the  Emperor  dismissed  them,  and  then  the 
Chamberlain  of  the  day  announced  the  Grandes 
Entrees.  The  persons  who  were  entitled  to  this  privi- 

5 


66  THE  GRENADIER 

lege — the  great  officers  of  the  Empire,  the  presidents 
of  the  various  bodies  of  State,  the  chief  authorities  of 
Paris — had  meanwhile  alighted  from  their  carriages  at 
the  Pavilion  de  Flore,  and  entering  the  Palace,  assem- 
bled in  the  salon  de  service.  The  Arch-Chancellor 
Cambaceres;  Lebrun,  Arch-Treasurer;  Talleyrand, 
Grand  Chamberlain  and  Vice-Grand  Elector;  Regnier, 
Minister  of  Justice;  Clarke,  Minister  of  War;  Decres, 
Minister  of  Naval  Affairs;  Gaudin,  Minister  of  Fin- 
ance; Mollien,  Minister  of  the  Public  Treasury,  sena- 
tors, marshals,  generals,  the  Princes  of  the  Rhine  Con- 
federation, the  Grand  Duke  of  Baden,  Prince  William 
of  Prussia,  the  Prince  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  the 
Archbishop  of  Regensburg,  the  Prince  of  Mecklen- 
burg-Schwerin — all  were  waiting  for  the  moment 
which  should  admit  them  to  the  master. 

The  Grandes  Entrees  being  summoned,  the  Chamber- 
lain of  the  day  admitted  into  the  salon  of  the  Emperor 
all  this  glittering  crowd  in  the  order  of  their  rank. 
The  Emperor,  passing  about  the  circle,  spoke  to  every- 
body, questioned  them,  interrogated  them,  and  talking 
only  business — administration,  politics,  war,  the  army, 
finance — demanded  exact  answers  to  his  precise  and 
minute  inquiries.  The  generals  returned  from  distant 
missions  were  assailed  with  a  volley  of  questions  and 
the  Emperor  soon  gained  the  information  he  desired. 
In  half  an  hour  the  lever  was  ended  and  the  throng 
of  dignitaries  retired,  but  the  Emperor  retained  the 
Ministers  of  Marine  and  Finance,  to  whom  he  gave  a 
private  audience  in  the  same  apartment,  standing,  as 
was  his  wont,  before  the  fireplace  and  occasionally 
kicking  the  andirons  with  his  heels. 

At  ten  this  audience  was  finished ;  the  Emperor  dis- 


AUX  TUILERIES  67 

missed  them  by  a  bow  and  ordered  his  dejeuner. 
Dunan,  Maitre  d'Hotel,  assisted  by  his  valets,  brought 
in  the  small  mahogany  table  upon  which  were  placed 
the  dishes  with  silver  covers.  His  Majesty  seated  him- 
self and  ate  rapidly,  for  with  him  breakfast  was  an 
affair  of  ten  minutes.  As  he  finished  his  coffee,  the 
Prefect  of  the  Palace  approached. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a  dispatch  from  Spain." 

"  Admit  him,"  replied  the  Emperor. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  the  Baron  Lejeune 
entered. 

"From  the  Marshal  Lannes?"  inquired  the  Em- 
peror, taking  the  letter. 

"  Yes,  sire." 

Napoleon  tore  the  envelope  with  his  finger.  "  You 
have  been  long  on  the  way,  sir,"  he  said  suddenly, 
looking  up  at  Lejeune.  "  The  surrender  was  on  the 

2ISt." 

"  Your  Majesty,  the  Marshal's  first  dispatch  to  me 
at  Tudela  was  intercepted,"  said  the  Baron.  "  I  did 
not  receive  this  until  I  had  returned  to  Saragossa." 

"To  whom  was  the  first  dispatch  entrusted?"  in- 
quired the  Emperor. 

"  To  a  recruit  by  the  name  of  Pasquin,  I  believe," 
answered  Lejeune. 

"  A  recruit!  "  said  Napoleon  in  surprise,  "  were  there 
no  orderly  officers?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sire." 

His  Majesty  made  a  sign  that  the  interview  was 
ended,  and  pushing  his  chair  back  quickly  from  the 
table,  he  rose  and  retired  to  his  study.  In  his  all- 
retentive  memory  the  word  Pasquin  had  become  syn- 
onymous with  failure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS 

Now,  by  St.   Paul,  the  work  goes  bravely  on. 

— GIBBER,  Richard  III. 

How  various  his  employments. 

— COWPER,  The  Task. 

THE  Emperor's  study  was  a  room  of  no  great  dimen- 
sions and  lighted  by  only  one  window,  which  looked 
out  upon  the  Tuileries  garden.  Around  the  walls 
were  high  bookcases  filled  with  volumes  in  plain  bind- 
ings, each  carefully  catalogued,  and  stamped  "  Cabinet 
de  1'Empereur."  On  one  side  between  the  cases  stood 
a  great  regulator  clock,  and,  opposite  the  fireplace,  a 
long  closet  with  glass  doors  which  contained  boxes 
for  holding  papers,  and  upon  which  was  placed  the 
only  work  of  art  the  Emperor  ever  desired  personally 
to  have — a  bronze  equestrian  statue  of  the  great  Fred- 
eric, the  sovereign  whom  he  most  admired,  and  whom 
he  called  the  "  great  tactician."  The  paintings  on  the 
walls  and  ceiling  remained  as  in  the  days  of  Louis 
XIV,  and  upon  the  dark  canvases,  almost  black  with 
age,  might  be  seen  Maria  Theresa  under  the  guise  of 
Minerva. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  magnificent  writing- 
desk  covered  with  gilt  bronze,  and  an  arm-chair  of 
antique  shape,  but  the  Emperor  rarely  used  them  ex- 
cept to  give  his  signature.  His  habitual  seat  was  on 


IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS          69 

a  small  green-covered  sofa  near  the  fireplace,  protected 
from  the  fire  by  a  screen,  and  having  near  it  a  little 
table  on  which  his  letters  were  placed.  One  door  of 
the  apartment  opened  into  a  small  back  study,  deco- 
rated, like  the  other,  with  paintings  of  the  Louis  XIV 
period,  and  here  the  Emperor  sometimes  gave  audience 
to  his  ministers,  for  he  rarely  received  people  in  his 
study,  and  strangers  never. 

Adjoining  was  the  topographic  cabinet,  with  its 
great  tables  and  innumerable  pigeon-holes  in  which 
were  arranged  in  perfect  order  the  maps — maps  of  the 
world,  of  Europe,  of  all  parts  of  Europe,  maps  in 
detail  and  maps  in  relief — mounted  on  strong,  thick 
linen  and  enclosed  in  cardboard  cases  covered  with 
sheepskin.  The  chief  of  this  department  was  the 
Baron  Bacler  d'Albe,  who,  assisted  by  two  geometrical 
engineers,  was  constantly  employed  in  Paris  and  on 
campaign  in  registering  on  the  maps  by  means  of 
colored  pins  the  movements  of  the  various  army  corps 
following  the  victorious  eagles. 

There  was  no  luxury  in  these  rooms;  that  was  re- 
served for  the  State  apartments.  Here  all  was  for 
work,  and  the  necessary  tools — maps,  books,  secre- 
taries and  engineers — were  at  the  hand  of  the  master. 

When  the  Emperor  entered  he  found  M.  de  Meneval 
already  at  his  desk  in  the  recess  of  the  window.  The 
Emperor  threw  his  hat  and  sword  on  a  chair  and  sat 
down  on  the  sofa  by  the  fireplace,  where  for  a  few 
moments  he  ran  over  the  letters  placed  on  the  small 
table.  Then  rising  he  said,  "  Let  us  begin,  Meneval," 
and  walking  slowly  to  and  fro  across  the  room,  some- 
times twisting  his  right  arm  or  pulling  the  cuff  of  his 
coat,  he  began  his  dictation. 


70  THE  GRENADIER 

First,  a  letter  to  the  King  of  Bavaria,  in  which  he 
informed  him  that  he  was  about  to  assemble  150,000 
French  and  Italians  on  the  Po,  150,000  French  on  the 
Upper  Danube,  and  that  he  counted  on  100,000  Ger- 
mans; to  prevent  war  if  there  was  yet  time;  to  secure 
the  prosperous  issue  of  it  should  a  conflict  take  place. 
Another,  in  the  same  general  terms,  to  the  King  of 
Saxony,  another  to  the  King  of  Wurtemburg,  another 
to  the  King  of  Westphalia,  another  to  the  Duke  of 
Baden.  He  ordered  them  all  to  prepare  themselves 
and  demanded  the  assemblage  of  their  troops  around 
Munich,  Dresden  and  Warsaw. 

Then,  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  whom  he  informed 
that  if  he  levied  a  single  man  beyond  the  42,000  author- 
ized by  the  Treaty  of  Tilsit,  he  would  declare  war 
against  him;  then  to  Murat,  King  of  Naples,  whom 
he  ordered  to  distribute  his  army  in  two  divisions,  one 
between  Naples  and  Reggio,  the  other  between  Naples 
and  Rome ;  then  to  the  Emperor  Alexander,  whom  he 
informed  of  his  return  from  Spain,  of  the  armaments 
of  Austria,  and  whom  he  called  upon  to  fulfil  the 
terms  of  agreement  made  at  Erfurt;  then  to  General 
Lauriston,  whom  he  ordered  to  add  48  pieces  of  artil- 
lery to  the  Guard  and  to  purchase  1800  horses  in 
Alsace;  then  to  Fouche,  Minister  of  Police,  whom  he 
commanded  to  make  a  census  of  the  old  noble  families 
living  on  their  estates,  enrol  their  sons  and  send  them 
to  the  military  school.  "  If  they  complain,"  he  added 
"  say  that  such  is  my  good  pleasure." 

The  Emperor  continued  to  walk  during  his  dicta- 
tion, and  as  he  became  more  interested  he  walked 
faster,  while  Meneval's  pen  ran  rapidly  over  the  paper. 

"  To  the  Marshal  Lannes,"  said  he  abruptly,  picking 
up  Lannes'  letter  from  the  small  table. 


IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS          71 

"  Monsieur  le  Marechal: — 

"  I  have  received  your  letter  by  the  Baron  Lejeune. 
The  Minister  of  War  will  send  you  my  instructions 
regarding  the  troops  to  be  kept  in  Saragossa.  It 
would  have  been  of  great  advantage  to  me  to  have 
learned  of  the  surrender  sooner.  In  future  send  me 
no  more  recruits.  Your  Pasquin  was  a  pasquin 
indeed.  I  am  about  to  wage  war  with  Austria.  Come 
to  Paris  at  once." 

Then  the  Emperor  sat  down  on  his  sofa  and  began 
to  read  the  papers  in  the  portfolio  of  the  Minister  of 
Justice.  All  the  Ministers  were  required  to  send  their 
portfolios  to  him;  he  read  their  papers,  and  wrote  his 
answers  on  the  margins.  Meneval,  meanwhile,  was 
busy  writing  out  clean  copies  of  the  letters  upon  the 
thick,  plain  Imperial  letter-paper  and  preparing  them 
for  the  Emperor's  signature. 

After  a  time,  the  Grand  Marshal  entered,  bringing 
the  budget  of  the  Imperial  household  for  the  ensuing 
year.  The  Emperor  took  it  and  began  going  over  the 
items. 

"  Coffee  costs  me  a  great  deal,"  said  he,  "  let  us  see, 
there  are  155  cups  of  coffee  consumed  daily,  each  cup 
costs  20  sous,  coffee  is  5  francs  a  pound  and  sugar  4 
francs,"  and  taking  up  a  pen  he  began  figuring  on  the 
margin.  "  That  amounts  yearly  to  more  than  56,000 
francs.  We  will  have  no  more  coffee  in  kind.  I  will 
give  a  money  allowance.  I  shall  save  30,000  francs." 
The  Emperor  went  on  over  the  other  items,  cutting 
here  and  retrenching  there  until  Duroc  declared  that  the 
Imperial  household  could  not  be  maintained  upon  its 
present  footing  with  so  little.  The  Emperor  laughed 
and  pulled  his  ear,  saying,  "  We  shall  see.  Three 
million  francs  must  do  for  1809." 


72  THE  GRENADIER 

The  Master  of  the  Horse  requested  an  audience  and 
the  Emperor  went  into  the  back  cabinet  to  receive 
him.  It  was  all  about  a  certain  coachman,  Bonnat  by 
name,  who,  having  been  twice  discharged  for  drunken- 
ness and  taken  back,  had  committed  the  offense  a 
third  time.  "  Yes,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  Bonnat  is  not 
worth  much.  However,"  he  added,  for  he  was  slow  to 
remove  those  who  had  been  with  him  in  the  early  days, 
"  let  him  remain.  He  drove  an  ammunition-wagon  at 
Marengo,"  and  he  went  back  to  his  study. 

Meneval  had  prepared  the  letters  for  his  signature, 
and  the  Emperor,  sitting  at  his  writing-desk,  signed 
them  rapidly;  those  to  sovereigns  in  full,  Napoleon; 
the  others  simply  N.  or  Nap.  It  was  half-past  one. 
"  It  is  time  to  go  to  the  Council,"  said  the  Emperor, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff.  Duroc  handed  him  his  hat 
and  sword,  and  he  went  out  into  the  salon,  where  he 
found  the  chamberlain  of  the  day  and  the  aide-de- 
camp on  duty.  Followed  by  them,  he  crossed  the 
Hall  of  the  Guards,  and  the  Salle  de  Marechaux,  went 
down  the  grand  staircase  and  up  another  which  led 
to  the  Council  Hall.  The  drums  rolled,  as  he  came  up 
the  staircase,  and  gave  notice  of  his  approach. 

The  Hall  of  the  Council  of  State  was  very  large. 
Its  windows  looked  out  upon  the  courtyard  of  the 
Palace,  and  on  its  ceiling  was  Gerard's  famous  picture 
of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz.  At  one  end  of  the  hall,  on 
a  dais,  were  three  writing-tables;  the  Emperor's  in  the 
centre,  the  Arch-Chancellor's  on  the  right,  the  Arch- 
Treasurer's  on  the  left.  By  the  windows  were  the 
tables  of  the  Councillors  of  State  and  of  the  auditors, 
while  at  the  other  end  of  the  apartment  were  the  desks 
of  the  Masters  of  Requests. 


IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS          73 

Here  were  the  men  with  whom  the  Emperor  had 
worked  upon  the  Civil  Code,  the  Code  of  Procedure, 
the  Code  of  Commerce,  the  Penal  Code,  the  Code  of 
Criminal  Administration — the  famous  Tronchet,  Por- 
talis,  Merlin,  Segur,  Real,  d'Hauterive  and  Fourcroy; 
also  the  directors-general  Duchatel,  Franc.ais,  Beren- 
ger,  Pelet,  Bergon  and  Laumond.  At  the  Council  of 
State  the  former  sous-lieutenant  of  La  Fere,  in  spite 
of  his  strictly  military  education,  displayed  a  legal 
erudition  which  astonished  his  hearers.  He  was 
prouder  of  the  Code  Napoleon  than  of  Austerlitz  or 
Jena,  for,  said  he,  "  I  shall  go  down  to  posterity  with 
the  Code  in  my  hand." 

The  Council,  which  met  at  half-past  twelve,  had 
already  been  in  session  an  hour  when  the  Emperor 
entered.  He  sat  down  at  his  writing-desk  and  con- 
sulted the  printed  order  of  the  day,  which  was  placed 
there,  and  then,  calling  up  a  subject  which  interested 
him,  invited  discussion.  He  liked  a  free  and  general 
discussion  and  provoked  young  auditors  to  contradic- 
tion to  make  it  so.  At  the  Council  he  seemed  to  make 
good  his  statement,  "  I  do  not  feel  any  limit  to  my 
power  for  work,"  and  he  kept  everyone  else  up  to  the 
same  pressure. 

M.  Fourcroy  rose  to  report  on  the  affairs  of  Hol- 
land; his  report  was  long,  and,  as  he  read,  the  Em- 
peror occasionally  looked  at  him  through  his  eye-glass, 
then  he  cut  grooves  in  the  arm  of  his  chair  or  wrote 
mechanically  upon  a  scrap  of  paper,  "  Mon  Dieu,  que 
je  vous  aime,"  seven  or  eight  times  over,  and  took 
large  pinches  of  snuff,  which  he  scattered  on  the  floor 
about  him.  When  the  report  was  finished,  he  called 
for  discussion,  took  part  in  it  himself,  and,  with  his 


74  THE  GRENADIER 

analytical  penetration,  summed  up  clearly  complicated 
questions. 

The  hours  flew  by,  it  was  eight  in  the  evening,  and 
still  the  Council  sat.  The  Emperor's  dinner-hour  was 
six,  but  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  no  one  dared 
to  remind  him,  for  nothing  interfered  with  the  Council 
of  State. 

Since  six  o'clock,  the  Empress  Josephine,  dressed 
with  that  taste  she  knew  so  well  how  to  display,  to 
which  she  had  accustomed  the  Emperor  and  which 
made  him  very  critical  of  other  women's  toilets,  had 
been  waiting  in  her  apartment.  She  always  dined 
alone  with  the  Emperor  and  was  always  ready, 
but  she  often  had  to  wait.  It  did  not  make  much 
difference  to  her,  however,  for  she  ate  little,  and  was 
never  annoyed  if  she  dined  at  eight  or  at  ten;  but  it 
was  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  the  Prefect  of  the 
Palace  and  the  maitre  d'hotel,  who  had  to  renew  the 
boiling  water  in  the  dish- warmers  and  have  a  fresh  fowl 
put  on  the  spit  every  quarter  of  an  hour.  In  spite  of 
all  their  precautions  the  dishes  generally  suffered,  but 
the  Emperor  never  noticed  it.  Finally,  at  half-past 
eight,  Napoleon  dismissed  the  Council  and  entered  the 
apartments  of  the  Empress. 

There  was  no  dining-room  at  the  Tuileries,  and  the 
Emperor  dined  one  evening  in  the  Empress's  apart- 
ments and  another  in  his  own.  Everything  except 
the  dessert  was  served  at  once,  and  the  Emperor,  sit- 
ting down  to  table  abstractedly,  ate  the  first  dish  that 
came  to  hand.  He  chatted  with  the  Empress,  admired 
her  toilet,  and  then  asked  for  M.  Barbier,  who  had 
been  summoned  to  read  him  the  translation  of  a  Ger- 
man paper. 


IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS          75 

The  Prefect  of  the  Palace  approached.  "  Sire,"  said 
he,  "  there  is  a  dispatch  from  Spain." 

"Admit  him,"  cried  the  Emperor,  laying  down  his 
fork. 

The  orderly  officer,  booted,  and  splashed  with  mud 
from  his  hurried  journey,  entered  and  presented  his 
dispatch.  To  these  dispatch-bearers  all  doors  flew 
open ;  they  were  received  at  all  hours.  "  It  is  from 
Ney,"  said  the  Emperor  to  Josephine,  "  he  is  in  pursuit 
of  the  English." 

He  rose  from  table.  The  dinner  had  lasted  fifteen 
minutes,  and,  giving  his  hand  to  the  Empress,  Napo- 
leon conducted  her  to  his  salon.  There  he  took  his 
coffee,  which  Josephine  herself  sweetened,  or  he  would 
have  forgotten  it. 

"  Sire,  you  will  come  to-night  to  the  ball  at  the 
Minister  of  Marine's?"  said  the  Empress. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Napoleon,  "but  ten  o'clock 
will  be  time  enough.  I  am  going  to  work  at  nine  with 
the  Minister  of  Finance." 

He  went  back  to  his  study,  and  at  nine  precisely, 
M.  Gaudin  was  announced.  He  found  the  Emperor 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  floor  upon  an  immense  map 
of  central  Europe,  in  which  he  was  sticking  colored 
pins;  near  him  was  the  Baron  d'Albe.  "There,"  said 
Napoleon,  "  I  shall  concentrate  near  Donauwerth,  I 
shall  beat  them  at  Abensburg,  or  Ratisbon,  and  there 
lies  the  road  to  Vienna,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  right 
bank  of  the  Danube.  "  However,  my  good  Gaudin," 
he  added,  "  for  all  this  we  must  have  money,  so  let 
us  get  to  work." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  d'Albe  rolled  up  the 
map,  and  the  Minister  produced  his  papers. 


76  THE  GRENADIER 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  the  budget  for  1809?  "  in- 
quired the  Emperor. 

"  730  millions  for  general  expenses  and  40  millions 
for  departmental ;  a  total  of  890  millions  with  the  costs 
of  collection,"  replied  the  Minister. 

"  In  1807  and  1808  the  troops  beyond  the  Rhine 
were  paid  from  the  army  treasury,"  said  the  Emperor. 
"  We  must  do  the  same  in  1809." 

"All  the  expenses  of  the  army  in  Germany  were 
paid  down  to  the  3ist  of  last  December,"  said 
M.  Gaudin,  "  and  there  should  be  in  the  army  treasury 
about  300  millions ;  20  millions  from  the  war  in  Austria 
and  280  millions  from  the  war  in  Prussia." 

"  But  only  forty  millions  of  that  will  be  available, 
and  I  have  reduced  Prussia's  contribution  20  millions 
at  the  request  of  the  Emperor  Alexander,"  said  Napo- 
leon. 

"  The  budget  for  1809,"  remarked  M.  Gaudin,  "  has 
quite  enough  to  do  to  pay  the  armies  in  Spain  and 
Italy." 

"  True,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  there  must  not  be  a 
deficit  in  the  budget,  and  it  will  take  77  millions  to 
pay  the  troops  in  Germany  for  the  year.  Let  us  see 
where  to  get  them."  And  the  Emperor  and  his  Min- 
ister began  figuring. 

Time  passed  and  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door.  "  Who  is  there?  "  called  the  Em- 
peror. It  was  a  page  from  the  Empress.  The  ball 
was  magnificent  and  all  were  impatiently  awaiting  the 
Emperor's  arrival.  "  All  in  good  time,"  cried  Napo- 
leon, "  tell  the  Empress  I  am  at  work  with  the  Minister 
of  Finance.  We  are  coming." 

They  continued  their  work,  and  an  hour  later  there 


IMPERIAL  MAN  OF  BUSINESS          77 

was  another  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  again  a  page 
from  the  Empress.  "  We  are  coming,"  cried  the  Em- 
peror, continuing  his  writing. 

"  What  time  is  that,  Gaudin? "  he  inquired  finally  as 
the  clock  struck. 

"  Three  o'clock,  sire." 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu!  it  is  too  late  for  us  to  go  to  the 
ball;  what  do  you  think  about  it?  " 

"  That  is  quite  my  view,  sire/' 

"  Then  let  us  each  go  to  bed,"  said  the  Emperor. 
"  Well,"  he  added,  as  M.  Gaudin  took  his  hat  to  depart, 
"  many  people  think  that  we  pass  our  lives  in  amusing 
ourselves,  and,  as  the  Orientals  say,  eating  sweetmeats. 
Good  night,  Monsieur  le  Ministre." 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  WIDOW  PASQUIN 

Smit  with  exceeding  sorrow  unto  death. 

— TENNYSON,  The  Lover' 's  Tale. 

IT  was  the  third  of  March,  and  Henri  Jodelle  stood  in 
his  room  reading  a  letter.  He  read  it  carefully,  and 
his  face  grew  grave  as  he  did  so.  "  I  am  sorry  for 
the  young  Pasquin,"  said  Henri.  "  He  was  not  a  bad 
fellow,  and  I  rather  liked  the  boy's  pluck  when  he 
went  off  to  the  war.  Now  Deteau  writes  me  that  he 
has  been  killed  at  Saragossa.  So  tout  est  fini." 

The  gargon  Gaspard  put  his  head  in  at  the  door. 
"Pere  Henri,"  said  he,  "it  is  four  o'clock.  You 
wanted  to  go  to  the  Trois  Dauphins,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Henri,  taking  up  his  cloak  and 
hat  He  went  down  into  the  cafe  and  out  into  the 
Place  Grenette. 

"Ah,  good  day,  Henri,"  said  old  Frederic  Bonne- 
ville.  "  Have  you  any  news  from  Spain?  " 

"  Yes.  Jean  Deteau,  the  aide-de-camp  to  Marshal 
Lannes,  you  know,  has  written  me  a  letter.  Saragossa 
has  surrendered,  but  a  nasty  fight  those  Spanish  devils 
made  of  it  Sixty  days  they  kept  us  at  it.  The  Em- 
peror should  have  been  there.  Things  would  have 
come  to  an  end  quickly  then." 

"  Ajax  is  a  good  soldier,"  said  old  Bonneville. 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  answered  Henri,  "  but  it  takes 


WIDOW  PASQUIN  79 

the  Little  Corporal  to  hurry  matters.  Look  how 
quickly  he  brought  Madrid  to  terms.  Ah,  if  I  had 
the  two  good  legs  I  had  once,  I  would  go  again 
and  have  a  hand  at  it  myself.  Where  are  you  going, 
Frederic?" 

"  To  the  Cafe  Jodelle." 

"  Well,  go,  and  wait  for  me  there.  Gaspard  will 
give  you  a  glass  of  wine.  I  am  going  to  the  Trois 
Dauphins,  but  I'll  be  back  at  five  o'clock.  Adieu, 
Frederic." 

Henri  went  on  his  way  and  entered  the  Rue  Mon- 
torge.  "  I'll  say  nothing  about  the  young  Pasquin  to 
Marie  to-day,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  To-morrow  will 
be  time  enough.  Now  there  is  Widow  Pasquin's 
epicerie.  I  fancy  she  ought  to  know,  so  I  will  stop 
and  tell  her." 

He  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  shop.  There 
was  no  one  in  it,  and  Henri  passed  to  the  rear  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Jeanne 
Pasquin  lived. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  Widow,  and  he  entered. 

The  Widow  Pasquin  was  sitting  in  her  high-backed 
chair  before  the  little  fireplace.  The  firelight  played 
over  her  white  cap,  heavy  dark  dress  and  curious 
wooden  shoes,  and  brought  out  more  clearly  the 
wrinkles  and  lines  of  her  sad  face. 

"  Bon  jour,  mere  Pasquin,"  said  Henri.  "  I  found 
no  one  in  your  shop  and  so  I  knocked  at  your  door." 

"  Come  in,  Henri  Jodelle,  and  sit  down  by  the  fire," 
said  the  Widow.  And  when  he  had  done  so  she  asked, 
"What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

Henri  seemed  a  little  embarrassed.  "  Well,  mere 
Pasquin,"  he  said,  "  what  news  do  you  have  from  your 
son  Pierre?" 


8o  THE  GRENADIER 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  which  made  the 
Widow  grow  pale  and  she  looked  at  him  nervously. 
"  I  heard  from  him  at  Saragossa,"  she  answered.  "  He 
had  been  wounded,  but  was  getting  well  fast.  Tell 
me,  pere  Henri,  have  you  any  news?  " 

Henri,  with  a  soldier's  bluntness,  pulled  Deteau's 
letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  her.  She  took 
it  with  trembling  hands  and  read  it  hurriedly  by  the 
firelight.  Then  with  a  low  cry,  "  Ah,  mon  Dieu ! " 
she  sank  forward  in  her  chair  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

The  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes.  "  He  is  dead!  " 
she  cried.  "  My  brave  Pierre !  my  only  boy !  My 
God !  My  God !  what  will  become  of  me !  "  And  her 
wasted,  trembling  body  shook  with  her  sobs. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  muttered  Henri  nervously,  "  I 
must  cheer  her  up  a  bit."  "  Le  diable!  good  mere 
Pasquin,"  he  cried  bluntly,  "  you  son  has  had  a  gallant 
death.  Why,  if  I  had  twenty  sons  I'd  send  them  all 
to  battle  pour  la  patrie!  Where  can  a  brave  man  die 
better  than  on  the  field  of  honor  under  the  banners  of 
our  glorious  Emperor?" 

"  Stop,  Henri  Jodelle,  stop !  "  cried  the  Widow,  rais- 
ing her  feeble  hand.  "  You  little  know,  you  hard, 
rough  man,  the  grief  that  fills  a  mother's  heart  when 
she  has  lost  her  only  boy!  As  for  that  man,  that 
Napoleon  whom  you  style  '  glorious  Emperor,'  speak 
no  more  of  him!  Have  I  not  given  him  my  all;  my 
Amand,  my  Robert,  my  Pierre!  Go,  Henri  Jodelle, 
and  torture  me  no  more ! " 

Henri's  face  was  a  study  as  he  walked  along  the 
Rue  Montorge  toward  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins. 
"  I  didn't  think  she  would  take  on  like  that,"  he  said. 


WIDOW  PASQUIN  81 

"  When  one's  son  goes  to  war  one  should  be  prepared 
to  have  him  killed,  and,  after  all,  quelle  difference  if  he 
but  die  gloriously  on  the  field  of  honor." 

In  her  little  room  the  Widow  Pasquin  sat  sobbing 
and  moaning.  The  shades  of  evening  came  gradually 
on,  and  then  darkness,  and  only  the  faint  light  of  the 
fire  illumined  the  sombre  gloom  of  the  room.  The 
sobs  became  softer  and  finally  ceased.  It  was  night, 
and  still  the  Widow  Pasquin  sat  motionless  in  her 
high-backed  chair.  The  light  of  the  fire  died  away, 
and  nothing  remained  but  the  dull  gleam  of  the  red 
embers;  gradually  that  died  too,  and  all  was  darkness. 
Then,  on  the  lofty  summits  of  the  surrounding  mount- 
ains, appeared  the  first  rays  of  the  morning,  faintly  at 
first,  then  brighter  and  brighter,  and,  at  last,  the  sun 
rose,  bringing  light  and  life  and  joy;  a  new  day  had 
begun. 

The  bright  rays  shone  into  the  little  room,  filling  it 
with  a  blaze  of  light  and  glory,  but  the  Widow  Pasquin 
moved  not;  she  still  sat  in  her  high-backed  chair.  The 
homme  du  pcuple  started  to  his  daily  toil,  the  portiere 
took  her  broom  and  swept  the  doorways,  the  wretched 
chiffonniers  went  with  their  baskets  in  search  of  gar- 
bage, the  pale-faced  soeur  de  charite,  with  her  white  cap 
and  cross  and  beads,  began  her  errands  of  mercy,  the 
bouquetiere  arranged  her  flowers  on  the  sidewalk,  the 
torn  and  tattered  mendiants  tramped  about  looking  for 
a  few  sous,  the  marchand  de  coco,  with  his  long  can 
strapped  on  his  back,  his  tin  cups  and  curious  round 
hat,  began  to  vend  his  wares,  the  porteur  d'eau  carried 
his  water-pails  hung  over  his  shoulder,  the  patissier 
arranged  his  cakes  for  the  boys  going  to  school,  the 
fact  cur  de  la  poste  delivered  his  letters,  the  modiste 

6 


82  THE  GRENADIER 

dusted  the  articles  in  her  pretty  shop,  the  gendarmes 
brought  their  prisoners  before  the  commissaire  de  police, 
the  doulairiere  commenced  to  tell  her  fortunes,  the 
maitresse  de  maison  sipped  her  coffee,  the  white-headed 
jardinier  de  cimetiere  raked  his  gravel  walks,  the 
commissionnaires  ran  about  on  people's  errands,  at  the 
Trois  Dauphins  the  conducteur  de  diligence  waited  for 
his  horses  to  be  put  in.  The  life  of  the  town  had 
begun,  and  still  the  Widow  Pasquin  sat  motionless  in 
her  high-backed  chair. 

Was  she  asleep,  forgetting  that  she,  too,  must  be 
about  and  doing?  Ah,  no!  That  in  the  chair  was 
no  longer  Widow  Pasquin:  she  had  gone  to  join  her 
Robert  and  pere  Amand. 

When  Henri  came  down  into  the  room  where  he  and 
his  daughter  took  breakfast,  he  found  Marie  crying 
bitterly.  Now,  how  can  she  have  learned  anything  of 
this?  thought  Henri.  "  Do  not  cry,  Marie,"  he  said, 
"the  young  Pasquin  was  a  plucky  fellow  and  I  am 
sorry  that  he  is  dead,  but " 

"  Why,  father,  he  is  not  dead !  "  exclaimed  Marie. 

"What!"  cried  Henri.  "Why,  only  yesterday  I 
had  a  letter  from  Jean  Deteau  telling  me  so." 

"  And  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Pierre  this  morning," 
answered  Marie.  "  But,  oh,  father!  dreadful  things 
have  happened!  Jean  tried  to  kill  Pierre,  and  also 
told  him  that  I  was  to  marry  an  officer  of  dragoons. 
Ah,  pere  Henri!"  And  Marie's  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

Henri  looked  strangely  puzzled.  "  Give  me  the 
letter,"  he  said.  He  read  it  slowly,  his  eyes  growing 
larger  and  larger  and  his  face  redder  and  redder  as 
he  did  so.  "  Le  grand  diable!"  he  roared  as  he 


WIDOW  PASQUIN  83 

finished,  striking  his  thigh  with  his  hand.  Then,  seiz- 
ing his  hat,  he  hurried  from  the  room,  leaving  Marie 
sad  and  bewildered. 

Henri  hastened  along  toward  the  Rue  Montorge  and 
his  crutch  thumped  vigorously  on  the  cobblestones. 
"The  pere  Henri  is  in  a  great  hurry  this  morning," 
said  dame  Bovard  to  her  husband  as  he  passed  their 
door. 

The  shop  of  the  Widow  Pasquin  was  quiet,  and 
Henri,  passing  through  it,  knocked  at  the  door  of  her 
room.  There  was  no  response.  He  tried  the  door,  it 
opened  and  he  entered.  Why,  there  she  was  before 
the  fireplace !  "  Cheer  up,  mere  Pasquin,"  he  cried 

gaily,  "your  son ."  And  then  he  stopped  and 

came  slowly  forward,  looking  at  the  pale  face  and 
closed  eyes.  He  lifted  one  of  the  thin  hands,  put 
down  his  head  and  held  his  ear  against  the  heart 
some  minutes.  Then  he  went  softly  out  and  closed 
the  door. 

As  he  came  through  the  shop  the  facteur  de  la  paste 
entered.  "  Here  is  a  letter  for  the  Widow  Pasquin," 
he  said. 

"  Good  Andre,"  answered  Henri  slowly,  "  the 
Widow  Pasquin  will  receive  no  more  letters.  She  is 
dead." 

"Well,  that's  a  pity,"  answered  Andre.  "She's 
been  looking  badly  for  a  good  while,  I've  been  think- 
ing." And  he  humed  on. 

Henri  took  up  the  letter  and  then  drew  from  his 
pocket  Pierre's  letter  to  Marie  and  compared  them. 
The  handwriting  was  the  same.  He  went  back  and 
quietly  placed  the  letter  in  the  mere  Pasquin's  hand, 
and  as  he  came  out  and  locked  the  door,  there  were 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  stern  old  Henri  Jodelle. 


84  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Marie,"  said  he,  when  he  reached  the  cafe,  "  the 
mere  Pasquin  died  last  night  You  must  write  to  the 
young  Pierre.  Tell  him  I  will  attend  to  the  funeral, 
and  tell  him — in  the  same  letter,  mind  you — that  if  he 
proves  himself  a  brave  soldier  and  comes  home  safe 
and  sound,  he  shall  marry  you.  Tell  him  Henri 
Jodelle  says  that,  and  Henri  Jodelle  always  keeps  his 
word!" 

"  I  owe  that  much  to  la  veuve  Pasquin,"  he  muttered. 

When  he  was  done  he  took  Jean  Deteau's  letter 
from  his  pocket,  tore  it  into  small  fragments  and  threw 
it  into  the  fireplace,  saying  fiercely,  "  le  grand  diable !  " 

In  the  cemetery  of  Grenoble  there  stands  a  small 
gravestone,  placed  there  by  Henri  Jodelle,  and  bearing 
this  inscription: 

La  Veuve  Pasquin, 
Nee  a  Vizille  le  13  Avril  1758. 
Morte  a  Grenoble  le  3  Mars  1809. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL 

Tout  soldat  frangais  porte  dans  sa  giberne  le  baton  de 
Marechal  de  France. — NAPOLEON. 

GREAT  events  were  in  progress,  for  it  was  now  evident 
that  war  with  Austria  was  imminent,  and  this  time 
they  were  to  fight  on  the  battlegrounds  of  Europe 
under  the  eyes  of  the  Emperor  himself. 

Leaving  Alagon,  the  H5th  of  the  Line  had  marched 
to  Bayonne,  and  then  northeast  across  France, 
through  Mont  de  Marsan,  Cahors,  Aurillac  and  St. 
Etienne,  to  Lyons.  This  city,  situated  at  the  conflu- 
ence of  the  Saone  and  the  Rhone,  is,  by  reason  of  its 
industry  and  commerce,  next  to  Paris  in  municipal 
importance.  Here  the  H5th  went  into  quarters,  and 
they  were  kept  constantly  at  work.  It  was  drill,  drill, 
drill,  from  morning  till  night,  in  the  Place  Bellecour. 
The  Boudet  and  Molitor  divisions  were  there,  too,  and 
Pierre  began  to  know  some  of  those  old  soldiers  who 
had  followec  the  victorious  French  eagles  on  so  many 
battlefields.  At  that  time  a  division  of  the  corps 
d'armee  consisted  of  four  regiments  of  infantry  of  the 
Line  (forming  two  brigades),  one  regiment  of  light  in- 
fantry and  one  regiment  of  chasseurs  (forming  the 
vanguard),  four  regiments  of  cavalry,  chasseurs  and 
cuirassiers,  two  companies  of  light  artillery,  eight 
pieces  of  heavy  artillery,  twelve-pounders  and  eight- 


86  THE  GRENADIER 

inch  howitzers,  a  park  of  reserve  with  the  necessary 
ammunition  for  heavy  and  light  artillery,  and  cart- 
ridges for  infantry  and  cavalry.  Then,  too,  there  were 
butchers,  bakers,  sutlers  and  all  the  baggage-train. 

What  tremendous  enthusiasm  there  was  among  the 
old  soldiers  of  the  Boudet  and  Molitor  divisions!  The 
1 1 5th  of  the  Line,  who  had  been  merged  into  the 
Boudet  division,  quickly  caught  the  spirit  and  longed 
only  for  the  day  when  the  order  should  come  to  march. 
Finally  the  order  came,  and,  on  a  bright  March  morn- 
ing, the  Boudet  and  Molitor  divisions  left  Lyons  and 
took  the  road  to  Strassburg. 

The  various  Marshals  of  the  Empire  were  not  all  at 
the  Emperor's  service  for  the  present  campaign.  Ney, 
Soult,  Victor,  and  Mortier  were  carrying  on  the  war 
in  Spain;  Murat,  recovering  from  his  indisposition, 
caused  mainly  by  his  disappointment  at  being  declared 
King  of  Naples  instead  of  King  of  Spain,  was  not 
available.  But  the  Emperor  had  three  whom  he 
valued  most  highly;  Davout,  Massena,  and  the  brave 
Lannes,  whom  he  had  summoned  after  the  fall  of  Sara- 
gossa.  To  each  of  these  he  had  assigned  fifty  thou- 
sand men. 

Davout,  with  the  Morand,  Friant  and  Gudin  divi- 
sions and  the  splendid  St.  Sulpice  cuirassiers,  was  sta- 
tioned between  Bayreuth  and  Ratisbon.  Massena, 
with  the  Carra  St.  Cyr,  Legrand,  Boudet  and  Molitor 
divisions,  light  cavalry,  Hessians  and  Badens,  was  to 
have  his  rendezvous  at  Ulm.  The  St.  Hilaire  division, 
the  three  divisions  of  General  Oudinot  and  the  cuiras- 
siers of  General  Espagne  were  at  Augsburg,  awaiting 
Marshal  Lannes,  who  had  not  yet  arrived.  At  Munich, 
Landshut  and  Straubing  were  the  Bavarians,  Wurtem- 


NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL  87 

bergers  and  Saxons  under  Marshals  Lefebvre,  Auge- 
reau  and  Prince  Bernadotte.  In  reserve  were  the  cav- 
alry— dragoons,  carabineers  and  cuirassiers  of  General 
Nansouty — and  the  Imperial  Guard,  twenty  thousand 
strong,  commanded  by  Marshal  Bessieres.  Prince 
Berthier  was  Major-General,  M.  Daru,  Commissary- 
General,  and  over  all  was  the  Commander-in-Chief,  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,  delaying  in  Paris  until  the  last 
moment  that  he  might  better  transmit  his  orders  to  his 
armies  in  Spain  and  Italy,  keeping  his  eyes  constantly 
fixed  on  the  semaphore  telegraph,  and  ready — at  the 
first  movement  of  the  great  Austrian  army,  200,000 
strong,  commanded  by  the  generalissimo,  the  Arch- 
duke Charles — to  throw  himself  into  his  traveling 
carriage  and  take  the  field. 

The  Boudet  and  Molitor  divisions  had  not  proceeded 
far  from  Lyons  when  they  received  orders  to  turn  to- 
ward Belfort  and  take  the  shortest  road  through  the 
Black  Forest  to  Ulm.  From  Ulm  they  were  hastened 
on  to  Augsburg,  where  Massena  took  command. 

On  the  loth  of  April,  the  Austrians  crossed  the  Inn. 
The  news  was  known  in  Paris  on  the  evening  of  the 
1 2th,  and  the  same  night  Napoleon  entered  his  car- 
riage, and,  driving  furiously  across  France,  reached 
Strassburg  on  the  15th,  and  Donauwerth  on  the  i/th, 
outstripping  his  staff,  aides-de-camp,  and  saddle-horses, 
and  none  too  soon  to  repair  the  blunders  of  Prince 
Berthier,  Major-General.  In  four  days  from  the  time 
of  the  Emperor's  arrival  at  Donauwerth  the  military 
situation  underwent  a  remarkable  change.  On  the 
1 7th  the  French  forces  were  widely  scattered,  and  the 
united  Austrian  army  was  advancing  between  them. 
By  the  2ist  the  French  had  united,  repulsed  the  Aus- 


88  THE  GRENADIER 

trian  right,  routed  the  Austrian  centre  and  driven  back 
the  wings,  stormed  and  captured  Landshut,  and  sent 
the  corps  of  Hiller  and  the  Archduke  Louis — the 
Austrian  left — flying  across  the  Isar.  Then  with  all 
his  united  forces  the  French  Emperor  prepared  to  fall 
upon  the  Archduke  Charles  and  the  Austrian  right  and 
crush  them  at  Eckmiihl.  And  during  these  four  days 
the  Emperor  Napoleon,  galloping  rapidly  from  one 
point  to  another,  never  taking  off  his  coat  or  his 
boots,  manoeuvring  in  a  country  of  great  obscurity, 
dictating  at  all  moments  his  orders,  short,  precise, 
clear — so  clear  that  his  lieutenants  were  never  in  doubt 
for  an  instant  as  to  their  meaning — had  changed 
a  seemingly  desperate  situation  into  one  of  triumph. 
Wherever  galloped  the  white  horse  bearing  the  little 
man  in  the  gray  coat  and  the  cocked  hat,  there  flew  the 
victory ! 

The  evening  of  April  2ist  was  cool  and  clear.  The 
camp-fires  of  the  great  host  burned  brightly,  casting 
their  ever-shifting  rays  over  the  dark  lines  of  huts, 
gleaming  on  the  bright  bayonets  and  military  trap- 
pings, and  throwing  the  shadows  of  the  soldiers  in 
great  silhouettes  upon  the  ground.  Eight  o'clock 
had  come,  soup  had  been  served  out,  and  the  men, 
gathered  about  the  fires,  were  making  their  evening 
meal. 

Around  one  of  these  many  centres  of  light  and 
warmth  was  clustered  a  characteristic  group.  There 
was  Andre  Marceau,  an  old  grenadier,  whose  face  was 
disfigured  by  a  deep  red  scar  that  extended  from  the 
bridge  of  his  nose  to  the  lower  part  of  his  jaw,  and 
which  was  the  relic  of  a  sabre-cut  received  at  Auer- 
stadt.  This  was  by  no  means  Andre's  first  campaign, 


NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL  89 

for  he  had  fought  in  Italy,  at  Arcola  and  at  Rivoli;  in 
Austria,  at  Ulm  and  at  Austerlitz;  in  Poland,  at  Pul- 
tusk  and  at  Preussisch-Eylau. 

There  was  Gustave  Lebon,  who  had  made  the  cam- 
paigns of  Marengo,  Austerlitz,  Jena  and  Friedland. 
There  was  Gerard  Etienne,  who  had  seen  service  in 
Italy,  Austria  and  Spain.  There  was  Pierre  Pasquin, 
who  had  been  at  the  siege  of  Saragossa,  and  who  was 
now,  for  the  first  time,  seeing  war  on  a  large  scale. 
And,  greatest  of  all,  there  was  old  Francois  Legrand, 
who  wore  proudly  on  his  breast  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  who  had  fought  in  Italy  at  Castig- 
lione  and  at  the  passage  of  the  Tagliamento,  had  been 
with  General  Bonaparte  in  Egypt  at  St.  Jean  d'Acre, 
the  Pyramids  and  Aboukir,  had  served  at  Marengo, 
Austerlitz,  and  Jena,  had  entered  Berlin  in  triumph, 
had  faced  the  Russian  cuirassiers  in  the  cemetery  at 
Eylau,  and  had  witnessed  the  interview  of  the  Em- 
perors at  Tilsit.  A  fierce  old  fellow  was  Francois 
Legrand,  with  his  tremendous  mustache  and  shaggy 
eyebrows,  skilled  with  sword  and  pistol,  and,  from  his 
proverbial  insolence,  nicknamed  by  his  comrades,  "  le 
grand  diable." 

"  We  will  have  lively  work  to-morrow,"  said  Andre 
Marcear.,  as  he  finished  his  soup  and  stuck  his  big  pipe 
in  his  mouth. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  old  Legrand.  "  This 
time  let  us  make  a  finish  of  these  white-coated  Aus- 
trians.  They'll  wake  up  some  fine  morning  and  find 
us  in  Vienna.  Trust  the  Little  Corporal  for  that !  He 
took  us  there  fast  enough  in  1805.  '  Come,  hurry, 
boys,'  said  he,  '  I  fight  with  your  legs  now.'  And  we 
hurried  too!  The  Viennese  thought  we  were  still  fool- 


90  THE  GRENADIER 

ing  with  Mack  at  Ulm,  when,  all  at  once,  we  marched 
into  Vienna  and  said,  'Bon  jour,  Viennese!'  Par- 
bleu !  but  they  were  a  surprised  lot,  those  Viennese !  " 

"  Ajax  is  coming  to  command,"  said  Gustave  Lebon. 
"  Do  you  know  what  the  Little  Corporal  said  to  Ajax 
one  day  at  parade?  '  Lannes,'  said  the  Little  Corporal, 
'  you  never  complain  if  the  parade  makes  us  late  for 
dinner.'  '  Devil  a  bit! '  said  Ajax.  '  It's  all  the  same 
to  me  whether  I  eat  my  soup  hot  or  cold  provided  you 
make  us  work  to  warm  up  a  good  broth  of  those 
d d  English!'" 

"  You  should  have  seen  Ajax  at  Lodi,"  said  Gerard 
Etienne,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "  He 
and  the  Little  Corporal  were  the  first  men  across  the 
bridge.  I  was  not  far  behind,  and  hot  work  it  was 
too!" 

"  Vive  le  Marechal  Lannes ! "  cried  old  Marceau. 
"He  was  only  a  poor  fellow  like  us  once;  and  Ney 
and  Murat  too.  Look  at  them  now!  Ajax  is  a  Duke, 
Ney  is  a  Prince,  and  Murat  is  a  King!  However,  our 
time  will  come.  Hasn't  the  Little  Corporal  said, 
'  Every  French  soldier  carries  in  his  knapsack  the 
baton  of  a  Marshal  of  France ! ' ' 

"Egypt  was  the  place!"  said  Francois  Legrand, 
throwing  back  his  head  and  sticking  out  his  feet  nearer 
the  fire.  "  Diable!  but  it  was  hot  there!  We  came 
along  to  Cairo  and  saw  the  rascally  Mamelukes  wait- 
ing under  the  Pyramids  all  ready  to  chew  us  up.  The 
Little  Corporal  rode  along  the  ranks,  reined  in  his 
horse,  and  said,  '  Soldats,  des  hauts  de  ces  pyramides 
quarante  siecles  vous  contemplent! '  Mon  Dieu,  but 

you  should  have  seen  us  cut  the  throats  of  the  d d 

Mamelukes  after  that !  " 


NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL  91 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  we  entered  Berlin,  Gus- 
tave?"  asked  Andre  Marceau. 

"  Ventrebleu,  tut  I  do!  "  said  Gustave.  "  That  was 
a  fine  sight!  All  Davout's  corps  in  new  uniforms! 
How  grand  the  Guard  looked,  and  the  Staff  all  blazing 
with  gold  and  jewels!  The  Germans  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  our  little  man  with  his  old  coat  and  one-sou 
cockade  was  master  of  it  all." 

"  Well,  they  found  out  soon  enough,"  said  Frangois 
Legrand.  "  The  Little  Corporal  told  them  he  would 
come  if  they  didn't  stop  blowing  so  much  about  their 
grand  Frederic;  but  they  wouldn't  shut  up  and  so  he 
came.  He  always  does  what  he  says,  the  Little  Cor- 
poral!" 

"  Indeed  he  does,"  said  Gerard  Etienne.  "  I'll  never 
forget  when  I  was  drafted.  You  see  there  was  no  one 
to  look  after  the  mother  but  me,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  she  was  going  to  do.  So,  thought  I,  I'll  tell 
the  Little  Corporal  and  perhaps  he'll  help  her.  So  I 
wrote  out  a  petition.  Have  any  of  you  fellows  ever 
tried  to  write  a  petition?  Maybe  you  can  write 
better  than  me.  Sacre,  but  it  was  hard  work  for  me, 
and  lots  of  pains  I  took  with  it!  Well,  the  next  decadi 
when  we  went  to  parade  at  the  Tuileries,  I  carried  the 
petition  in  my  pocket.  I  was  weak  in  the  knees  when 
I  saw  the  big  crowd  around  the  Little  Corporal  that 
day!  Two  or  three  German  Kings  and  a  lot  of  aides- 
de-camp,  all  plumes  and  gold!  'Brace  up,  Gerard,' 
said  I,  '  or  the  poor  mother  will  come  to  grief.'  So  I 
went  out  of  the  ranks.  Mon  Dieu!  but  you  should 
have  seen  those  aides-de-camp  and  German  Kings  look 
at  me  as  if  to  say,  quelle  effronterie!  What  did  I  care 
for  them!  My  business  was  with  the  Little  Corporal, 


92  THE  GRENADIER 

and  I  went  straight  up  to  him  and  held  out  my  paper. 
He  took  it,  and  smiled  and  said,  '  I  will  read  it,  mon 
enfant'  And  he  did  too,  and  the  mother  got  a  pension 
of  1200  francs!  Don't  you  suppose  I'll  die  for  the 
Little  Corporal  after  that?  " 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  Emperor,"  said  Pierre,  who 
had  been  listening  with  close  attention  to  the  reminis- 
cences of  the  old  campaigners. 

"  Well,  don't  be  fool  enough  to  get  killed  until  you 
have,"  said  old  Legrand.  "  You'll  see  him.  He'll 
come  riding  along  the  ranks  and  look  at  you  and  order 
the  charge,  and  you'll  be  ready  enough  to  go  wherever 
he  says  and  do  whatever  he  wants.  Ah!  it  was  a  fine 
sight  at  Tilsit  to  see  the  Russian  Emperor  and  the  Ger- 
man King  and  all  those  Princes,  Counts,  and  Barons, 
taking  off  their  hats  to  the  Little  Corporal,  and  he  the 
greatest  of  all." 

"  They  were  all  born  on  thrones,"  said  Andre  Mar- 
ceau,  "  but  our  Little  Corporal  was  only  a  poor  sous- 
lieutenant  once,  and  that's  the  best  of  it.  We've  made 
him  Emperor,  and  he'll  make  us  all  Marshals  and 
Dukes  as  soon  as  we  deserve  it!  Why,  one  day  at 
Milan,  I  remember  it  as  though  it  were  yesterday,  we 
were  all  in  the  great  square.  The  Little  Corporal  was 
there  on  his  horse,  and  up  came  a  dragoon  with  a  dis- 
patch. The  Little  Corporal  read  it  and  gave  him  an 
answer  and  said,  '  Hurry.'  '  But,'  said  the  dragoon, 
'  my  horse  fell  dead  from  hard  riding,  and  I  have  no 
other.'  Well,  what  do  you  suppose  the  Little  Corporal 
did?  He  got  off  his  own  horse  and  said,  '  Take  mine.' 
Mon  Dieu,  but  that  dragoon  was  amazed !  You  could 
have  knocked  him  over  with  one  finger!  'Perhaps 
you  think  he's  too  fine,'  said  the  Little  Corporal. 


NIGHT  BEFORE  ECKMUHL  93 

'  Never  mind,  comrade,  there  is  nothing  too  good  for 
a  French  soldier! " 

"Vive  1'Empereur!"  shouted  old  Frangois  Legrand 
excitedly.  The  others  took  it  up,  and  on  the  cool 
night  air  rang  out,  in  tumultuous  chorus  many  times 
repeated,  the  shout,  "  Vive  1'Empereur!  " 

It  was  nine  o'clock  and  the  tattoo  sounded  for  the 
soldiers  to  extinguish  their  fires,  and  soon  the  camp 
of  Boudet  division  was  wrapped  in  darkness  and 
silence — a  silence  broken  only  by  the  stamping  of  the 
horses  of  the  cuirassiers  and  the  measured  tread  of  the 
sentries  on  their  beats.  As  Pierre  lay  on  his  straw,  he 
reached  out  and  felt  the  knapsack  lying  beside  him,  and 
thought  again  of  what  Andre  Marceau  had  told  them 
the  Emperor  said,  "  Tout  soldat  frangais  porte  dans  sa 
giberne  le  baton  de  Marechal  de  France ! "  He  won- 
dered if  there  would  be  one  in  his,  and,  holding  tightly 
to  its  straps,  he  fell  asleep,  to  dream  that  he  too  had 
met  "  le  petit  caporal." 


CHAPTER  XI 
PLACE  AUX  DAMES 

Thy  voice  is  heard  thro'  rolling  drums, 
That  beat  to  battle  where  he  stands; 

Thy  face  across  his  fancy  comes, 
And  gives  the  battle  to  his  hands. 

— TENNYSON,  The  Princess. 

WHAT  were  the  women  of  France  doing  while  their 
husbands,  brothers,  sons,  and  lovers,  high-hearted, 
eager  for  glory,  proud  of  their  country's  greatness, 
marched  onward  toward  Vienna?  The  women  hoped 
and  waited.  Hoped  that  this  campaign,  like  that  of 
1805,  would  be  short  and  glorious;  hoped  that  fortune 
would  again  grant  France  her  favors ;  hoped  that  death 
once  more  would  spare  the  dear  ones  upon  whom 
their  thoughts  were  centered;  waited  for  the  bulletins 
to  tell  them  of  hopes  realized,  or  destroyed — those  bul- 
letins which  brought  joy  or  sorrow  to  so  many  homes! 
At  the  Tuileries  Palace  the  Empress  Josephine  for- 
got the  multiplying  demands  of  her  toilet  to  scan 
eagerly  the  short,  hieroglyphic  notes  that,  from  camp 
and  battlefield,  came  to  her  from  the  Emperor.  And 
throughout  France,  the  wives  of  Dukes,  Princes, 
Marshals,  Generals,  Majors,  Barons,  Captains,  Corpo- 
rals, Sergeants,  Privates — the  grand  lady  of  the  Im- 
perial Court,  who  lived  in  her  great  hotel  on  the 
Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  humble  peasant 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES  95 

woman,  who  watched  her  children,  planted  her  grain, 
and  did  her  chores  in  rustic  Dauphine,  or  flowery 
Touraine — all  watched,  waited,  and  hoped.  How 
many  widows  there  were !  One  could  see  them  every- 
where. In  the  lofty  aisles  of  Notre  Dame,  or  before 
the  little  altar  of  the  Church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont, 
or  in  the  grand  cathedral  of  Tours,  or  at  Amiens, 
kneeling  in  that  Gothic  marvel  of  Robert  de  Luzarche, 
where  the  arched  and  pinnacled  facade,  the  flying 
buttresses,  the  wealth  of  sculpture,  and  the  great  rose 
windows — purpling  and  gilding  with  their  rays  the 
saints,  apostles,  martyrs,  carved  on  every  side  with 
wondrous  skill — set  forth  the  Bible  epic  in  a  blaze  of 
glory. 

There  was  in  the  France  of  1809  an  anxiety,  a  dis- 
content, which  was  new  to  the  France  of  the  Empire. 
Public  opinion  had,  from  the  first,  disapproved  the 
Spanish  war,  and  the  stubborn  national  resistance 
encountered  by  the  French  in  Spain — a  resistance 
which  could  be  summed  up  in  the  one  word,  Sara- 
gossa — could  but  deepen  this  disapproval. 

The  levy  of  1809  had  been  called  out,  and  also  that 
of  1810  required  in  advance,  while,  in  addition,  the 
new  levies  upon  the  classes  of  1806,  1807,  1808,  which 
had  supposed  themselves  free,  caused  dismay  in  many 
families.  But  for  the  present,  although  there  were 
signs  of  discontent  and  disapprobation  among  high 
and  low,  France  on  the  whole  was  hopeful,  even  cheer- 
ful. For  France  was  marching,  and  at  her  head  the 
greatest  military  captain  of  the  world. 

The  Grand  Army  knew  no  doubts  or  fears ;  they  left 
such  things  to  diplomats,  to  merchants,  to  bankers,  to 
courtiers,  or  to  women.  They  looked  straight  ahead, 


96  THE  GRENADIER 

eager  to  behold  upon  the  crest  of  some  hill  the  white 
coats  of  the  enemy ;  to  see  in  some  valley  the  gleam  of 
their  camp-fires.  In  the  morning,  as  they  faced  the 
Austrian  cannon,  or  at  evening,  as  they  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  rain-soaked  ground,  they  had  but  one 
cry,  which  ever  and  always  expressed  their  thoughts, 
their  hopes,  and  their  devotion — "Vive  1'Empereur!" 
To  Marie  Jodelle  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  to  see  France  marching  thus  to  war.  She 
could  never  remember  any  other  state  of  affairs. 
When  she  came  into  the  world  in  1792,  the  throne  of 
the  Bourbons  had  fallen,  the  Revolution — "  that  many- 
headed  monster  thing  " — had  looked  forth  with  bloody 
eyes  upon  the  monarchies  of  Europe,  the  champions 
of  "  Royalty  by  right  divine  "  had  cried  "  To  arms !  " 
and  the  youth  of  France,  keeping  time  to  the  "  Mar- 
seillaise," were  marching  forth  to  battle  for  their  new- 
found tricolor.  When  Marie  was  five  years  old,  the 
pere  Henri  came  back  from  Italy,  minus  the  leg  he 
had  lost  at  Castiglione.  Then  her  mother  died,  and 
she  had  only  the  pere  Henri.  He  was  a  gruff  old 
soldier — the  pere  Henri — but  he  was  a  father  good 
and  kind.  When  she  was  older,  she  passed  many  an 
evening  sitting  on  his  knee  before  the  fireplace  in  the 
Cafe  Jodelle,  listening  with  wide-open  eyes,  while  he 
told  her  of  the  dangers  and  adventures  through  which 
he  had  passed.  As  he  talked,  she  heard  the  rolling 
drums,  sounding  the  charge  at  Valmy;  she  saw  the 
brave  Jourdan,  sword  in  hand  at  Fleurus;  she  heard 
the  "  Allons  enfants  de  la  patrie "  of  the  "  Marseil- 
laise"; and  next,  she  saw  upon  the  plains  of  Italy  the 
young  recruits  of  France,  hungry,  ragged,  lacking 
everything  but  courage,  to  whom  that  little  olive- 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES  97 

tinted  artillery  officer  came  and  said  abruptly — "  For- 
ward, march ! "  And  as  they  marched,  above  their 
heads  flew  trumpet-blowing  victory! 

That  Frenchmen  should  be  always  fighting,  since 
France  had  always  enemies  to  combat,  seemed,  then, 
to  her  natural  enough.  Sometimes,  however,  she 
wished  it  were  all  over  and  that  all  this  whirl  and 
bustle,  roar  and  thunder,  would  settle  down  to  peace. 
She  had  been  very  sorry  for  the  mere  Pasquin  when 
the  news  came  that  Robert  was  killed,  and  for  the 
good  dame  Nevel,  too,  who  lived  near  the  Place  St. 
Andre,  and  whose  husband  had  fallen  at  Friedland. 
She  was  very  sorry  for  them,  very  sorry,  but  she  had 
the  pere  Henri;  he  was  all  to  her,  then,  and  the  pere 
Henri  was  safe  at  home.  But  now — how  was  it  now, 
when  Pierre  was  marching,  and  each  day  might  bring 
her  news  that  would  end  forever  her  little  dream  of 
happiness,  and  that  too  just  as  the  pere  Henri  had 
given  his  consent? 

There  was  one  friend  to  whom  Marie  could  always 
turn,  and  that  was  the  garden  Gaspard.  He  was  an 
orphan — the  little  Gaspard.  His  father  had  marched 
and  fought  at  Henri  Jodelle's  side,  and  when,  torn  by 
the  Austrian  cannon,  he  lay  dying  in  Italy,  he  had 
said,  "  Henri,  don't  forget  Gaspard!  "  Henri  had  not 
forgotten.  When  he  came  home,  Gaspard  was 
brought  to  the  Cafe  Jodelle  and  lived  there  like  one 
of  the  family.  You  might  have  searched  Grenoble 
through  and  through,  and  looked  in  all  the  shops  in 
the  Rue  Montorge  and  in  the  Grande  Rue  and  in  the 
Place  St.  Andre  and  across  the  river,  and  you  would 
not  have  found  a  brighter,  happier,  handsomer  little 
lad  than  the  garqon  Gaspard  of  the  Cafe  Jodelle.  He 


98  THE  GRENADIER 

had  large  brown  eyes,  and  he  opened  them  wide  and 
looked  at  you  straight  in  the  face.  You  always  liked 
him  when  he  did  that.  He  was  neat  about  his  dress 
too;  his  jacket  and  trousers  were  coarse  and  common 
enough,  but  they  were  always  clean,  and  how  well  he 
looked  in  them!  He  looked  well  in  anything,  but 
suppose  he  had  had  a  fine  uniform  with  a  jacket 
trimmed  with  gilt  braid,  a  military  cap,  and  shiny 
boots?  Well,  if  he  had  had  all  that,  he  would  have 
been  one  of  the  most  gallant  little  chaps  ever  seen. 
What  a  merry  smile  he  had !  He  did  not  know  much 
as  book-learning  goes ;  he  could  read  a  little  and  write 
some,  too,  in  a  curious  round  hand  that  was  anything 
but  legible — but  how  quick  he  was!  No  matter  how 
many  soldiers  came  into  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  Gaspard 
could  wait  upon  them  all. 

"  Gaspard,"  said  Marie  one  morning,  "  do  you  ever 
worry?  " 

"Worry?  What  do  you  do  when  you  worry?" 
asked  Gaspard. 

"Well,  you  sit  and  think — think  about  some  one 
very  dear  to  you,  who  is  far  away  and  exposed  to  all 
sorts  of  dangers.  You  think  about  all  the  dangers, 
and  you  wonder  if  you  will  ever  see  the  dear  one 
again." 

"  No,"  said  Gaspard,  "  I  never  have  time  for  all 
that  There  is  no  one  dear  to  me  who  is  far  away. 
You  and  pere  Henri  are  here.  Why  should  I  worry 
about  any  one  else?  If  I  ever  did  sit  down  in  a 
corner,  old  Frederic  Bonneville  would  come  in  and 
shout,  'Gaspard,  a  glass  of  wine!'  You  can't  worry 
when  you're  running  about,  can  you?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Marie,  "  I  always  sit  in  my 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES  99 

room  and  look  out  on  the  Place  Grenette.  Oh,  Gas- 
pard,  I  wish  the  wars  were  over!" 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Gaspard.  "  Then  all  the  soldiers 
would  come  marching  home  through  the  town,  the 
drums  would  go  rat,  tat,  tat!  and  the  fifes  would 
blow.  I  like  the  fifes.  Have  you  ever  heard  me  play 
one?  Jacques  le  Page  taught  me.  He  has  a  fine 
one.  When  I  get  large,  I  mean  to  have  one,  too." 

"  Gaspard,"  said  Marie,  "  would  you  like  to  have 
me  tell  you  a  secret?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  would  like  that,"  answered  Gaspard. 

"  Well,  then,  the  pere  Henri  has  said  I  shall  marry 
Pierre.  Isn't  that  fine?  " 

Gaspard's  face  grew  grave.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  it  is 
not  fine.  When  you  marry  Pierre,  you  will  go  far 
away  to  live.  Me  and  pere  Henri  will  be  left  all  alone 
at  the  cafe.  There  will  be  no  one  to  take  me  on 
Sundays  for  a  picnic  to  Vizille.  No,  that  will  not  be 
fine  at  all!" 

"  But,  Gaspard! "  cried  Marie,  "  I  am  not  going  far 
away.  Pierre  and  I  are  going  to  live  right  here. 
Pierre  will  show  you  how  to  carry  a  gun,  and  Pierre 
knows  how  to  play  the  fife  and  he  will  play  it  for  you, 
and  you  can  go  with  Pierre  and  me  on  picnics  to 
Vizille." 

"  Oh,  good!  good!  "  cried  Gaspard.  "  That  will  be 
nice!  I  would  like  that!  Yes,  you  may  marry 
Pierre." 

Marie  had  a  pretty  room  in  the  Cafe  Jodelle.  It 
was  not  a  very  large  room,  but  it  was  very  cosy.  Her 
small  writing-desk  stood  in  one  corner,  and  before  the 
fireplace  was  a  large,  yellow-covered  chair  in  which 
she  often  sat  and  looked  out  on  the  Place  Grenette 


ioo  THE  GRENADIER 

when  she  "worried."  One  morning,  when  she  was 
sitting  in  the  yellow-covered  chair,  Gaspard  brought 
her  a  letter,  and,  as  soon  as  she  saw  it,  she  gave  Gas- 
pard a  kiss — she  always  did  when  he  brought  her  that 
sort  of  a  letter,  and  so  Gaspard  was  sorry  they  did 
not  come  twice  a  day.  Then  Gaspard  went  down  into 
the  cafe,  and  Marie  opened  her  letter,  and  this  was 
what  she  read: 

Straubing,  Bavaria,  April  25th,   1809. 
Dear  Marie, 

I  have  seen  him — the  great  Emperor!    This  is  how  it  was. 
Three  days  ago  the  battle  of  Eckmiihl  was  fought.     We  got 
up  at  four  in  the  morning.     Our  division  was  echeloned  to- 
ward Landshut  and  was  to  guard  the  road.     About  noon  the 
order  came  to  advance.     Then  we  heard  the  cannon  of  Mar- 
shal  Davout's   corps.     He  had  already  engaged  the  enemy. 
Our  corps  came  up.    I  never  heard  such  a  roar  of  cannon. 
I  could  see  nothing  much  for  the  rise  in  the  ground  and  the 
smoke.     All  our  division  was  drawn  up,  and  though  we  have 
marched  many  hundred  leagues,  we  looked  as  well  as   on 
parade.     If  a  fellow  did  not  keep  himself  in  trim,  he  would 
hear  of  it     Orderly  officers   galloped  in   all   directions.     A 
squadron  of  the  cuirassiers  of  the  Imperial  Guard  passed  us 
at  a  trot.     Never  have  I  seen  such  men  and  horses!    They 
must  always  conquer;  one  could  see  that  in  their  faces.    We 
gave  them  a  cheer  and  their  officer  saluted  us.    Then  they 
moved  us  up  on  to  the  higher  ground.     Smoke  was  thick  on 
the  plain,  but  we  could  see  the  Austrian  fires.     Marshal  Da- 
vout  was  fighting  on  our  right.    The  balls  whizzed  over  our 
heads,  some  of  the  new  ones  ducked  their  heads,  but  the  old 
ones  stood  up  straight  and  paid  no  attention  at  all  to  them. 
I  did  not  duck.     We  waited  the  order  to  advance.    You  may 
believe  it  is  no  fun  standing  still  hour  after  hour  when  every 
one    else   is   doing   something.     It    was    about   four   in    the 
afternoon.     We  heard  the  roll  of  drums  on  our  left  and  the 
soldiers  of  the  Gudin  division  shouting  "  Vive  1'Empereur! " 
He  was  coming!     I  was  in  the  front  rank  on  the  right     Near 


PLACE  AUX  DAMES  101 

me  was  Francois  Legrand.  I  have  told  you  of  him  before. 
How  my  heart  beat — the  Emperor  was  coming!  Four  chas- 
seurs of  the  Guard  with  green  coats  and  on  beautiful  black 
horses  came  first  at  a  gallop,  then  the  Emperor  on  a  white 
horse,  and  with  him  the  Major-General,  and  Marshal  Mas- 
sena.  Crack!  We  all  presented  arms  and  shouted  "Vive 
I'Empereur!"  The  Emperor  saluted  us.  He  stopped  in 
front  of  our  division,  drew  out  his  spy-glass,  rose  in  his 
stirrups  and  looked  to  the  right  where  Marshal  Davout  was 
fighting.  The  Emperor  does  not  look  like  the  picture  you 
have  in  the  Cafe  Jodelle.  He  is  stouter.  He  looks  more  like 
the  picture  we  used  to  see  in  the  window  of  Simon  Loisell's 
book-shop  on  the  Place  St.  Andre.  The  Emperor  said  some- 
thing to  the  Major-Gencral  and  got  off  his  horse.  The 
Major-General  and  the  Marshal  got  off  theirs.  Roustan,  the 
Mameluke,  held  the  Emperor's  horse.  They  brought  a  drum 
and  spread  a  map  on  it.  General  Cervoni  came  up.  Then 
the  Marshal,  General  Cervoni,  and  the  Emperor  bent  over 
the  map.  The  Emperor  was  in  the  middle.  While  they 
were  talking,  a  cannon-ball  struck  General  Cervoni  and  car- 
ried him  away.  All  our  division  groaned.  The  Emperor 
passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  and  then  bent  over  his  map. 
Two  aides-de-camp  came  galloping  up  to  the  Emperor.  He 
gave  them  some  orders,  and  the  aides-de-camp  whirled  and 
were  off  like  a  flash.  The  Emperor  walked  about  and  tapped 
his  boots  with  his  riding-whip.  He  looked  impatient.  "  All 
does  not  go  well,"  said  Francois  Legrand,  "  he  is  fretful." 
An  aide-de-camp  came  from  Marshal  Davout  to  say  that  the 
Austrians  were  giving  way.  The  Emperor  sent  for  Marshal 
Bessieres  and  ordered  the  charge  of  the  cavalry  of  the  Guard. 
Then  he  called  for  his  horse.  Night  was  coming  on.  Soon 
we  saw  the  Austrians  retreating  up  the  high  ground,  and  our 
cuirassiers  galloping  after  them  and  overthrowing  them  at 
every  step.  We  all  clapped  our  hands  and  shouted,  "  Vivent 
les  cuirassiers!  "  So  ended  the  battle.  We  bivouacked  where 
we  were.  I  had  no  chance  to  engage.  When  I  do,  I  hope 
better  luck  will  come  to  me  than  came  to  General  Cervoni. 
Anyway  I  will  do  the  best  I  can.  Last  night  I  lay  on  the 
ground  and  looked  up  at  the  bright  stars.  One  was  very 
bright,  and  in  it  I  seemed  to  see  your  face  smiling  down  at 
me.  I  remembered  the  words  you  wrote  me  the  pere  Henri 


102  THE  GRENADIER 

said:  "  If  he  proves  himself  a  brave  soldier  and  comes  home 
safe  and  sound,  he  shall  marry  you."  I  will  try  to  prove  a 
brave  soldier,  and  as  for  the  rest,  that  remains  with  the  good 
God.  I  am  so  tired  now  that  I  cannot  write  any  more.  I 
will  write  soon  again,  if  I  can,  though,  perhaps,  it  may  be  a 
month.  When  I  do,  I  will  tell  you  how  we  took  Ratisbon. 

Your  Pierre, 
3rd  Company,  U5th  of  the  Line,   Grand  Army. 

Marie  folded  the  letter,  put  it  carefully  away  in  her 
little  writing-desk,  and  sitting  down  in  the  old,  yellow- 
covered  chair,  looked  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon; 

A  mile  or  so  away, 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming  day. 
— ROBERT  BROWNIN?G,  Incident  of  the  French  Camp. 

"  GOTT  im  Himmel !  Vat  vill  become  of  mein  gar- 
ten?"  cried  Heinrich  Hauptmann,  when  he  first  saw 
the  French  forces  approaching  the  walls  of  Ratisbon. 
This  town,  called  by  the  Germans  Regensburg  (from 
the  small  river  Regen  which  here  flows  into  the 
Danube),  is  one  of  the  oldest  cities  in  Central  Europe. 
In  1809,  it  was  surrounded  on  the  south  by  a  wall  with 
towers  at  regular  intervals,  but  the  fortifications  were 
old  and  poor,  and  the  dry  ditches  outside  the  rampart 
were  used  as  kitchen  gardens  by  some  of  the  thrifty 
inhabitants. 

A  stone  bridge  connected  the  town  with  the  suburb 
upon  the  left  bank  of  the  Danube  called  Stadt-am- 
Hof,  and  by  this  bridge  the  Archduke  determined  to 
transport  his  army  after  the  disastrous  battle  of  Eck- 
miihl.  When  the 'Marshal  Davout  evacuated  the  city 
to  join  the  Emperor  at  Abensburg,  he  left,  according 
to  Napoleon's  orders,  the  65th  of  the  Line,  com- 
manded by  Colonel  Coutard,  to  garrison  the  place  and 
defend  the  bridge.  To  Ratisbon,  then,  came  the 
Archduke  Charles  of  Austria  and  his  defeated  army. 


104  THE  GRENADIER 

seeking  by  the  stone  highway  over  the  Danube  their 
only  means  of  safety.  The  65th  fought  bravely  for 
some  hours,  but  could  not  hold  out  against  the  mass 
of  the  Austrian  forces,  and  Colonel  Coutard  surren- 
dered the  town.  The  Archduke  led  his  troops  across 
the  river,  leaving  in  Ratisbon  a  garrison  of  some 
6000  men,  whom,  however,  he  could  reinforce  rapidly 
from  the  60,000  soldiers  that  he  had  now  assembled 
beyond  the  suburb  of  Stadt-am-Hof.  Save  for  the 
means  of  retreat  thus  afforded  him,  the  Archduke  and 
his  army  would  have  been  compelled  to  surrender. 

But  the  Emperor  could  not  march  upon  Vienna 
while  the  Austrians  held  Ratisbon,  for,  unless  he  took 
the  town,  the  Archduke  could  again  cross  the  Danube 
and  attack  him  in  the  rear.  Thus  the  capture  of 
Ratisbon  became  the  sine  qua  non  for  the  march  to 
Vienna.  To  Ratisbon,  therefore,  came  the  corps  of 
Davout,  Lannes,  and  Massena,  flushed  with  victory; 
to  Ratisbon,  therefore,  rode  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 

Just  outside  the  wall  of  the  town,  near  the  Straubing 
gate  and  built  against  the  rampart,  stood  the  house  of 
Heinrich  Hauptmann.  Heinrich  was  a  vender  of 
garden  truck,  and  in  the  ditches  of  the  old  fortifica- 
tion he  had  his  small  kitchen-garden,  where  he  raised 
a  varied  assortment  of  beans,  turnips,  cabbages,  horse- 
radish, parsnips,  and  other  delicacies  which  he  sold  in 
the  Ratisbon  market  Heinrich  had  been  very  loath 
to  leave  his  little  property.  During'Marshal  Davout's 
occupation  he  had  remained  in  his  house,  but  when  the 
Austrians,  retreating  from  Eckmiihl,  attacked  the  place 
to  wrest  it  from  the  65th,  Hauptmann  was  forced  to 
retreat  behind  the  ramparts,  where  he  spent  his  time 
in  cursing  the  "  verderbt  Oestreicher "  (the  wicked 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  105 

Austrian)  and  the  "  schlecht  Franzose "  (the  bad 
French).  After  the  Austrians  obtained  possession  of 
the  town  he  went  out  again,  but  soon  the  approach 
of  the  great  army  of  Napoleon  compelled  him  once 
more  to  take  refuge  within  the  walls.  In  order  to 
enter  the  city  it  was  necessary  for  the  French  to  de- 
scend into  the  deep  ditch  of  the  fortification,  cross  it 
under  fire  from  the  Austrians,  and  scale  the  rampart 
by  means  of  ladders.  The  Emperor  Napoleon,  who 
had  dismounted  upon  a  hillock  about  a  cannon-shot 
from  the  town,  quickly  perceived  the  house  of  Haupt- 
mann  near  the  Straubing  gate  and  saw  that  it  was 
built  against  the  rampart.  At  once  His  Majesty  or- 
dered up  several  twelve-pounders  and  howitzers,  and 
commanded  their  fire  to  be  concentrated  upon  this 
house,  that  its  ruins,  falling  into  the  ditch,  might  form 
an  incline  upon  which  the  corps  of  Lannes  could 
mount  to  assault  the  wall. 

The  cannonade  began.  Heinrich,  who  was  in  the 
Osten  Casse  near  the  Straubing  gate,  soon  learned 
that  something  was  going  on  in  the  direction  of  his 
cherished  dwelling.  Unable  to  restrain  his  anxiety, 
he  managed  to  get  up  upon  the  rampart,  and  the  situ- 
ation was  instantly  revealed  to  him  in  all  its  stern 
reality,  for  at  that  moment  a  cannon-ball  from  one  of 
the  French  twelve-pounders  crashed  into  his  house  and 
tumbled  part  of  it  into  the  ditch.  Heinrich  nearly  fell 
off  the  rampart  from  terror  and  rage. 

"  Tausend  Teufel ! "  he  yelled,  "  die  franzosische 
Verbrecher!  dey  are  shootin  der  damt  balls  right  in 
mein  house!  Gott  im  Himmel!  mein  house  vill  be  all 
von  damt  ruin !  " 

"Get  down  from  here!"  cried  an  Austrian  soldier. 
"  What  do  I  care  about  you  or  your  house! " 


io6  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Vat  do  you  care  about  me  or  mein  house?  "  roared 
Heinrich,  bursting  with  rage,  "  Veil,  dat's  all  right  vat 
you  care  about  me  or  mein  house !  Vat  for  you  come 
in  dis  town  und  brought  der  schlecht  franzosisch 
Kaiser  Napoleon  after  you,  who  goes  und  troes  his 
damt  balls  right  in  mein  house,  dat's  vat  I  vant  to 
know?" 

But  the  soldier  ruthlessly  dragged  Heinrich  off  the 
rampart,  and  as  Heinrich  continued  to  expostulate, 
he  was  informed  that  if  he  didn't  "  shut  up  "  he  would 
have  his  "  head  cracked  " — a  mode  of  procedure  which 
did  not  leave  much  room  for  further  argument. 

Meanwhile  the  Morand  and  Boudet  divisions  had 
been  ordered  forward  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
walls  of  Ratisbon  and  stationed  in  the  rear  of  a  large 
stone  store-house  that  stood  close  to  the  promenade 
surrounding  the  town.  Then  Marshal  Lannes,  who 
had  conducted  this  manoeuvre,  rode  off  to  the  little 
hill  to  receive  the  Emperor's  final  orders.  The  H5th 
of  the  Line  were  drawn  up  at  the  west  side  of  the 
store-house,  while  in  front  of  them  were  massed  the 
85th  of  the  Line,  which  belonged  to  the  Morand  divi- 
sion. The  twelve-pounders  were  thundering,  the 
house  of  Hauptmann  had  already  fallen,  and  the 
cannon-balls  were  now  battering  a  breach  in  the  ram- 
part. Francois  Legrand  stamped  his  foot  impatiently, 
and  Pierre,  who  stood  near  him,  wondered  why  the 
order  did  not  come  to  advance.  Suddenly  they  saw- 
soldiers  from  the  Friant,  Gudin,  Molitor,  and  Carra 
St.  Cyr  divisions,  breaking  ranks  and  running  quickly 
toward  the  mound  where  the  Emperor  had  taken  his 
stand.  The  crowd  grew  larger  and  larger,  and  the 
Austrians,  seeing  that  a  part  of  the  vast  mass  was 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  107 

within  cannon-shot,  turned  their  guns  in  that  direction. 
The  soldiers  of  the  U5th  and  85th  wondered  what  it 
all  meant.  Francois  Legrand  grew  pale,  and  Pierre 
heard  him  mutter,  "  1'Empereur  est  mort!"  But  all 
at  once,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  fearful  exclamation,  there 
came  from  the  dark  mass  of  troops  about  the  mound 
a  ringing  shout,  "Vive  1'Empereur!  Vive  1'Em- 
pereur! " 

"  Hurrah !  "  shouted  Francois  Legrand. 

"  Hurrah ! "  cried  Pierre  and  all  the  other  grena- 
diers of  the  1 1 5th  and  of  the  85th,  although  they  did 
not  understand  why  they  were  cheering.  Up  dashed 
an  orderly. 

"  The  Emperor  has  been  wounded !  "  he  cried. 

"Where?"  shouted  the  soldiers. 

"  In  the  right  foot,  but  it  is  nothing!  He  is  having 
it  dressed!  He  will  come  to  review  you  presently! 
He  is  all  right!"  and  the  orderly  gave  his  horse  the 
spur. 

"He'o  all  right!  He  exposes  himself  as  we  do! 
Hurrah!  Hurrah!  "  cried  Frangois  Legrand. 

"Vive  1'Empereur!"  roared  the  grenadiers  of  the 
1 1 5th  and  85th.  They  could  see  the  dark  mass  break- 
ing up  and  the  soldiers  running  back  to  their  respec- 
tive regiments.  And  when  a  few  moments  later  the 
Emperor,  his  pale  face  still  slightly  drawn  with  pain, 
galloped  down  the  lines,  throughout  that  vast  host 
the  banners  floated,  the  shakos  and  bearskins  waved 
in  triumph  on  the  bayonets,  while  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  voices  swelled  louder  and  louder  the  mighty 
shout,  until  it  struck  the  ears  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Ratisbon  like  a  thunder  peal  and  drowned  for  an  in- 
stant the  salvos  of  the  Austrian  artillery — "  Vive  1'Em- 
pereur! " 


108  THE  GRENADIER 

Then  the  Marshal  Lannes  rode  up  to  the  85th  and 
called  for  fifty  volunteers  to  carry  forward  the  ladders. 
More  than  one  hundred  soldiers  ran  out  of  the  ranks, 
but  the  Marshal  reduced  the  number  to  fifty,  and  they 
started  on  the  double  in  close  column.  Hardly  were 
they  clear  of  the  store-house  when  a  hail  of  balls  from 
the  Austrian  sharpshooters  struck  them,  and  the 
grenadiers  to  a  man  were  hurled  dead  and  dying  on 
the  plain.  And  still  the  Austrian  cannon  thundered 
on! 

Again  the  Marshal  called  for  volunteers  from  the 
85th,  and  again  numbers  of  soldiers  ran  forward  with 
alacrity.  Another  ladder  company  was  formed,  and 
they  dashed  forward  in  column.  But  again  the  storm 
of  bullets  struck  them  and  left  them  crushed  and 
mangled  on  the  sand.  And  still  the  Austrian  cannon 
thundered  on! 

Once  more  the  Marshal  called  for  volunteers,  but 
this  time  no  one  came  forward.  It  was  certain  death, 
they  thought,  to  pass  the  protecting  angle  of  the  store- 
house. Lannes  lost  all  patience  and  sprang  from  his 
horse.  "  Well,  I  will  let  you  see  that  I  was  a  grena- 
dier before  I  was  a  Marshal,  and  am  one  still!  "  he 
cried,  and  seizing  a  ladder,  he  would  have  started  out. 
But  his  aides-de-camp  surrounded  him,  crying  out  that 
they  would  be  forever  disgraced  if  they  allowed  him 
to  carry  out  his  purpose.  Marbot  and  DeViry  grasped 
the  ladder  out  of  the  Marshal's  hands  and  put 
it  upon  their  shoulders.  The  sight  of  a  Marshal  of 
France  disputing  with  his  aides-de-camp  as  to  which  of 
them  should  rush  into  the  face  of  death  was  too  much 
for  Francois  Legrand,  and  although  no  volunteers 
had  as  yet  been  called  for  from  the  H5th,  he  sprang 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  109 

forward  shouting,  "  I,  too,  will  go!  "  "  And  I!  "  cried 
Pierre,  following  hard  after  Franqois.  "And  II" 
"  And  I !"  "  And  I !  "  cried  many  of  the  grenadiers  of 
the  iisth  and  of  the  8sth. 

The  aide-de-camp  Marbot  took  command  of  the 
detachment.  "Two  men  to  each  ladder!"  he  cried, 
"  we  will  run  far  apart,  two  and  two.  In  that  way  we 
shall  more  easily  escape  the  fire  than  in  column. 
Some  of  us  will  get  through  alive.  Dash  into  the 
ditch  and  plant  the  ladders  against  the  rampart! " 

"Good!"  cried  Lannes,  "that  plan  will  succeed! 
Off  with  you,  boys,  and  Ratisbon  is  won! " 

Out  they  dashed;  the  bullets  whistled  and  the  can- 
non thundered,  but  the  men,  running  like  the  wind 
and  far  apart,  were  not  an  easy  aim. 

Pierre  had  seized  a  ladder  with  Francois,  and  as  he 
rushed  across  the  open  space  he  heard  Franqois  call- 
ing, "To  the  right!  Pierre,  to  the  right!"  Down 
into  the  ditch  they  sprang  and  breathless  climbed  over 
the  debris  of  Hauptmann's  house.  They  were  ahead 
of  the  others  and  might  have  been  the  first  to  scale  the 
wall,  but  Pierre,  running  over  the  ruins  in  the  ditch, 
tripped  and  fell  his  length,  gashing  his  head  on  a 
rough  stone.  He  was  up  in  an  instant,  and  wiping 
away,  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  the  blood  that 
trickled  down  into  his  right  eye,  he  helped  Frangois 
place  the  ladder  against  the  parapet.  At  that  moment 
they  heard  a  tremendous  cheer  from  the  Grand  Army, 
for  further  on  Marbot  and  Labedoyere  had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  rampart,  hand  in  hand. 

Up  the  ladder  ran  Francois,  calling,  "Come  on! 
young  Pasquin,  come  on!  "  Pierre  climbed  after  him, 
more  grenadiers  followed,  and  across  the  open  space 


no  THE  GRENADIER 

the  1 1 5th  and  85th  were  hastening  to  the  assault. 
The  Austrians,  seeing  the  French  pouring  over  the 
rampart,  ceased  firing  and  drew  back.  One  red- 
whiskered  artillery-man  seized  a  pistol  and  fired  at 
Francois.  The  ball  cut  the  plume  on  the  grenadier's 
lofty  cap,  and  the  next  moment  Frangois  lowered  his 
bayonet  and,  dashing  forward,  struck  the  Austrian  full 
in  the  breast  with  such  terrible  force  that  the  artillery- 
man fell  over  with  a  thud,  the  bayonet  point  buried 
itself  in  the  floor  of  the  rampart  and  the  butt  of  the 
gun  shook  with  the  vibration.  The  Austrian  was 
nailed  like  a  fly  to  the  floor. 

"  There !  That  will  teach  you  who  I  am !  "  roared 
Legrand.  He  seized  another  musket,  and  he  and 
Pierre  and  a  dozen  more  of  the  grenadiers  started 
down  into  the  town,  for  Lannes  had  ordered  them,  if 
they  were  able  to  get  into  the  city,  to  open  the 
Straubing  gate  that  the  Morand  division  might  enter. 
They  rushed  down  into  the  Osten  Casse  and  ran  into 
the  dark  archway  before  the  gate,  then  all  at  once 
stopped  short,  for  massed  in  the  gloom  of  the  archway 
stood  an  Austrian  battalion!  They  were  facing  the 
gate  with  their  rear  to  the  French,  but  their  Major 
saw  Frangois  and  shouted,  and  the  Austrians  faced 
about.  Another  than  Frangois  might  have  hesitated 
with  twelve  or  fourteen  men  at  his  back  and  an  Aus- 
trian battalion  before  him.  But  not  Frangois!  The 
least  hesitation  would  have  been  fatal.  It  was  Fran- 
gois' bravado  that  carried  the  day. 

"  Surrender !  "  he  roared  as  though  he  had  had  a 
regiment  behind  him.  "  We  have  captured  the  town ! 
Surrender!" 

"We  won't  surrender!"  shouted  the  Austrian  sol- 
diers. "  You  may  go  to  hell  first! " 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  in 

"Apres  vous,  Messieurs  les  Autrichiens ! "  cried 
Pierre. 

The  Austrian  Major  hesitated.  In  the  gloom  he 
could  not  tell  rightly  how  many  men  he  had  to  en- 
counter; he  could  hear  on  all  sides  the  shouts  of  the 
French.  Still  he  hesitated.  "Surrender,  you  fool!" 
shouted  Legrand,  seizing  him  by  the  throat,  "  Surren- 
der! or  I  will  run  you  through!  " 

And  now  the  ringing  blows  of  axes  upon  the  outer 
side  of  the  gate  told  the  Austrian  that  in  a  moment  he 
would  be  between  two  fires.  "  I  surrender!  "  he  cried. 

"Ah,  do  you!"  said  Legrand,  "I  thought  you 
would!  You  would  have  done  so  before  had  you 
known  that  I  am  Francois  Legrand ! " 

The  Major  hurried  his  men  out  of  the  arch,  and  as 
the  last  Austrian  passed  him,  Legrand  rushed  forward, 
seized  a  pick  that  lay  near  the  further  end  of  the  arch, 
and  dashing  it  down  through  the  fastenings,  split  them 
asunder.  The  gates,  bursting  with  pressure  from 
without,  flew  open  with  such  fury  that  they  crashed 
against  the  sides  of  the  arch  as  the  Morand  division, 
entering  like  a  torrent,  caught  up  Frangois  Legrand 
in  their  midst  and  carried  him  far  down  the  Osten 
Casse,  shouting  in  triumph,  "  Ratisbon  is  taken! 
Vive  1'Empereur! " 

The  inhabitants  of  the  town  were  all  shut  up  in  their 
houses  with  windows  fastened  and  doors  barred,  and 
the  Osten  Casse  was  deserted.  But.  as  the  French 
advanced,  there  came  running  out  of  a  low  stone  door- 
way a  short,  thick-set  man  who  shook  his  fist  in  their 
faces  and  cried,  "  Franzosische  Verbrecher!  ver  ist 
mein  house?  Vat  for  you  shoot  balls  in  mein  house? 
Ach!  you  are  dogs  of  Frenchmen!  To  der  Teufel 


ii2  THE  GRENADIER 

mit  you  und  your  damt  Kaiser  Napoleon ! "  And 
purple  with  rage  he  spit  at  the  troops.  Some  muskets 
were  raised,  for  the  grenadiers  were  in  no  mood  to 
receive  such  language,  and  it  would  have  gone  hard 
with  Herr  Hauptmann  had  not  the  Marshal  Lannes, 
who  led  the  division  in  person,  rushed  forward. 

"  Arrest  him !  "  cried  Lannes. 

Heinrich  kicked,  struck  and  struggled,  yelling, 
"Shoot!  damt  franzosische  Verbrecher!  Shoot  your 
damt  balls  in  me  now  you  have  spoilt  mein  house! " 
Two  sturdy  grenadiers  of  the  Morand  division  soon 
had  Heinrich  bound  hand  and  foot.  They  tied  a 
handkerchief  over  his  mouth  and  then  Heinrich  could 
only  snort  his  rage. 

A  number  of  houses  fired  by  French  shells  were 
blazing,  and  the  sparks  and  bits  of  charred  wood  were 
flying  over  and  into  the  Osten  Casse,  where  were  some 
thirty  wagons  abandoned  by  the  Austrians.  As  the 
French  were  passing  these,  one  of  the  Austrian  pris- 
oners cried  to  the  Marshal,  "We  are  all  lost!  These 
wagons  are  full  of  powder!  "  Lannes  turned  pale  for 
an  instant,  then  sprang  forward.  "  Open  ranks !  "  he 
cried.  "  Pile  your  guns  against  the  houses !  Push 
these  wagons  along  from  hand  to  hand  until  they  are 
out  under  the  arch!  They  are  powder-wagons! 
Quick!  Quick!" 

How  they  worked,  those  brave  grenadiers,  with 
eyes  set,  straining  every  nerve  as  they  pushed  and 
pulled  the  heavy  dark  masses  that  rumbled  along 
between  their  ranks.  And  the  Marshal,  how  he 
worked  too!  Dashing  his  plumed  hat  to  one  side,  he 
sprang  forward  and  seized  a  wagon,  crying,  "  Work 
fast,  boys!  Quick!  Quick!"  This  sturdy  Lannes! 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  113 

This  brave  "Ajax!"  This  Marshal  of  France  who 
was  once  a  grenadier! 

And  Franqois  Legrand,  how  he  worked  too!  The 
moment  his  great  hands  grasped  the  wheels  of  the 
heavy  wagons  they  seemed  to  fly  past  him!  And 
young  Pierre  Pasquin,  with  his  bandaged  head  and 
bloody  face — how  he  worked  too !  Let  but  one  spark, 
whirled  downward  by  the  wind,  set  fire  to  one  of  those 
dark  carriages,  and  the  grenadiers  of  the  II  5th  and  of 
the  85th,  a  Marshal  of  France,  and  half  of  Ratisbon 
would  be  no  more! 

On,  on  they  rolled,  rumbling  over  the  stones!  One 
by  one  they  passed  the  arch!  One  by  one  they  were 
pushed  outside  the  wall,  and  Ratisbon  was  saved! 
"  Now  for  the  bridge !  "  cried  the  Marshal.  "  Marbot, 
make  for  the  bridge  across  the  Danube! " 

Marbot  headed  a  detachment  comprising  some  two 
hundred  men  of  the  iiSth  and  they  started.  None  of 
them  had  ever  been  in  Ratisbon  before,  and  soon, 
lost  in  a  maze  of  little  narrow  streets,  they  did  not 
know  in  which  direction  they  were  going — west, 
north,  east,  or  south — but  they  pushed  on.  In  adjoin- 
ing streets  they  could  hear  the  rattle  of  musketry  fire 
as  the  troops  of  the  Marshal  drove  back  the  Austrian 
skirmishers.  They  were  passing  through  a  short 
street  at  the  end  of  which  they  could  see  the  towers 
of  St.  Peter's  Cathedral,  when  a  door  opened  suddenly 
and  a  lady,  charmingly  dressed,  ran  toward  them. 

"I  am  French!"  she  cried.  "Save  me!  Save 
me!" 

"  Who  are  you?  "  inquired  the  aide-de-camp. 

"  I  am  Mile.  Lelorge,  modiste  Parisienne.  I  have 
been  shut  up  in  my  shop  all  day,  for  I  feared  the 
Austrians.  Save  me!  Save  me!" 

8 


ii4  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Of  course  you  shall  be  saved,"  answered  Marbot. 
"  Now  tell  me — do  you  know  where  the  stone  bridge 
is  across  the  Danube?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Well  then,  show  us  the  way." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  with  all  this  shooting  going  on?  No! 
No!  No!  I  am  scared  to  death  already!  I  wanted 
you  to  give  me  some  soldiers  to  defend  my  shop.  I 
shall  run  back  at  once !  " 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  won't!"  rejoined  the  aide- 
de-camp.  "  You  must  show  us  the  bridge  first. 
Pasquin,  take  the  lady  by  the  arm!  Now,  fonvard, 
march! " 

Poor  Mile.  Lelorge!  She  screamed  with  all  her 
might,  but  it  was  no  use;  Pierre  marched  her  along. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  demanded  Marbot  as  they 
reached  the  corner  of  the  street. 

"  To  the  right!  To  the  right!  "  cried  Mile.  Lelorge. 
"I  shall  be  killed!  I  know  it!  Stop  holding  me  so 
tight!  You  hurt  my  arm!  I  shall  be  killed!  I  shall 
be  killed!" 

The  musketry  fire  continued,  and  as  they  came 
nearer  the  river,  the  roar  of  cannon  became  deafening. 
Mile.  Lelorge  sank  on  her  knees  and  refused  to  budge. 
Pierre  was  perplexed. 

"  Sergeant  Legrand,"  commanded  Marbot,  "  take 
the  lady's  other  arm  and  make  her  march!" 

When  Francois  took  hold  of  her,  Mademoiselle  was 
lifted  in  a  twinkling  several  feet  from  the  ground  and 
on  they  went,  Legrand's  weathen-beaten  face  grave 
and  impassive,  while  Mademoiselle  kicked  him  with 
her  heels  and  called  him  a  "  brute." 

"Where  shall  I  turn?"  demanded  Marbot. 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  115 

"To  the   right!     To  the  right!"   screamed   Mile. 
Lelorge. 

In  a  few  moments  they  entered  the  square  facing 
the  bridge,  at  the  further  end  of  which  was  stationed 
an  Austrian  battalion  that  immediately  opened  fire. 
Close  by  the  square  was  the  little  Chapel  of  the  Virgin, 
and  into  it,  by  Marbot's  orders,  the  grenadiers  carried 
Mile.  Lelorge,  who,  trembling  and  thoroughly  terri- 
fied, crouched  down  behind  the  Virgin's  statue. 
"Legrand!"  cried  Marbot,  as  Francois  and  Pierre 
came  out  of  the  chapel,  "  Guard  the  lady ! "  Then 
the  detachment  advanced,  firing  and  receiving  the 
Austrian  fire  at  every  step.  Suddenly,  into  the  now 
deserted  square,  ran  four  Austrian  troopers,  driven 
back  by  Lannes'  skirmishers.  Seeing  only  one  big 
French  grenadier  upon  the  steps  of  the  little  chapel, 
they  dashed  at  him.  Crack!  crack!  went  Legrand's 
musket  and  two  of  the  troopers  pitched  forward  on 
their  faces  upon  the  stone  pavement.  The  other  two 
came  on,  shouting  and  cursing  with  their  swords 
drawn.  "  Fools !  "  cried  Legrand,  "  do  you  fancy  you 
can  get  the  best  of  a  veteran  of  Eylau  and  Austerlitz? 
Au  diable  with  you  both!  "  He  drew  his  short  sword, 
and  there  they  fought — cut!  slash!  parry!  thrust!  The 
swords  rang  sharp  and  clear,  and  the  white  steps  of 
the  Chapel  of  the  Virgin  were  spotted  with  blood.  And 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  Marbot  and  the  victorious 
detachment,  having  routed  the  Austrian  battalion, 
surged  back  in  triumph  from  the  bridge,  they  found 
Francois  Legrand  smeared  with  blood,  standing  erect 
upon  the  steps  of  the  little  chapel,  with  four  Austrian 
troopers  dead  at  his  feet — guarding  the  lady! 

Thus  it  was  that,  on  the  23rd  of  April,  1809,  the 


n6  THE  GRENADIER 

town  of  Ratisbon  was  captured  by  the  French.  On 
the  same  day  the  Emperor  entered,  and,  as  many 
houses  were  still  burning  in  various  quarters,  he 
ordered  his  troops  to  assist  the  inhabitants  in  extin- 
guishing the  fires.  As  the  Emperor,  two  of  his  aides- 
de-camp,  and  the  Marshal  Lannes,  were  visiting  the 
northern  quarter  of  the  Osten  Casse,  His  Majesty  saw 
two  grenadiers  marching  along  with  a  stout  German 
between  them  whose  hands  were  tied  behind  his  back. 

"And  what  has  he  done?"  inquired. the  Emperor. 

"  His  head  is  turned,  sire,  by  the  loss  of  his  house, 
which  Your  Majesty  battered  down  near  the  Straubing 
gate,"  answered  the  Marshal. 

"  Halt!  "  cried  the  Emperor. 

The  grenadiers  stopped  in  their  tracks  and  their 
muskets  clicked  as  they  presented  arms.  The  Em- 
peror motioned  to  them  to  untie  Heinrich's  hands  and 
summoned  one  of  his  aides-de-camp  who  knew 
German. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  inquired  His  Majesty. 

"  Heinrich  Hauptmann,  Herr  Franzose  General." 

"  And  where  do  you  live?  " 

"  Ach !  Gott  im  Himmel !  I  lif  nowheres !  Mein 
house  is  all  von  ruin ! " 

"And  who  has  destroyed  your  house?" 

"Who  has  destroyed  mein  house?  Vhy  who  but 
your  schlecht  Franzose  Kaiser,  him  you  call  der  gross 
Napoleon!  He  has  sent  his  damt  balls  right  in  mein 
house!" 

"  And  you  have  lost  all?  " 

"Have  I  lost  all?  Gott  im  Himmel!  mein  schones 
garten  is  gone  too ! " 

"  Then  the  great  Napoleon  must  give  you  one  hun- 


THE  WALLS  OF  RATISBON  117 

dred  little  napoleons  to  build  your  house  again,"  an- 
swered the  Emperor.  He  motioned  to  his  aide-de- 
camp, who  opened  a  purse  and  poured  the  gold  into 
the  astounded  Heinrich's  hands.  And  thus  came  true 
that  saying  of  the  soldiers,  that  no  foeman,  however 
humble,  could  speak  to  His  Imperial  Majesty,  the  Em- 
peror of  the  French,  without  receiving  some  reward. 

Toward  evening,  after  visiting  the  various  quarters 
of  the  city,  the  Emperor  went  to  see  the  brave  regi- 
ments that  had  led  in  the  assault,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  square  where  the  H5th  were  bivouacked,  he  said 
to  the  Captain  who  saluted  him :  "  Where  is  he  who 
opened  the  gate  and  guarded  the  lady?" 

"  Legrand !  "  called  the  Captain,  and  the  sturdy 
grenadier  came  forward. 

"  Ah !  It  is  you !  "  cried  the  Emperor.  "  You  are 
one  of  my  old  '  grumblers '  of  Italy !  "  And  he  pulled 
Legrand's  mustache. 

"  I  may  be  a  grumbler,  sire,  but  I  march  always." 

"  Why,  so  you  do,  and  fight  too !  "  said  the  Em- 
peror. "  Come,  sit  down  here  and  tell  me  about  your 
old  father.  Does  he  not  live  at  Chalons-sur-Marne?  " 

"  He  does,  sire,"  answered  the  grenadier. 

And  so  upon  the  blackened  timbers  of  a  half-burned 
house  in  the  Ratisbon  Market  they  two  sat  down — 
the  great,  stalwart  grenadier,  with  his  towering  plume 
and  bearskin,  and  the  short,  gray-coated  Emperor, 
kicking  the  debris  with  his  boots  and  flicking  the 
sand  with  his  riding-whip.  Old  Franqois  Legrand 
and  his  good  friend  the  Little  Corporal!  And  the 
Emperor  asked  him  many  questions  about  himself 
and  about  his  family. 

"Why!  it  seems  you  were  with  me  in  Italy  and 


u8  THE  GRENADIER 

Egypt  and  at  Austerlitz!  Well,  what  have  you  gotten 
for  it  all?" 

"  I  have  the  cross,  sire,"  answered  Legrand  proudly. 

"  And  you  have  no  commission?  " 

"  It  will  come  some  time  or  other,"  replied  the 
soldier. 

"  It  has  come,"  rejoined  the  Emperor.  He  rose  and 
tapped  the  grenadier  lightly  with  his  riding-whip, 
saying,  "  We'll  march  to-morrow  to  Vienna,  Captain 
Legrand ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  BOLD  DUKE  MAXIMILIAN 

He  who  fights  and  runs  away 
May  live  to  fight  another  day. 

— GOLDSMITH,  The  Art  of  Poetry. 

ON  the  loth  of  May,  the  French  appeared  before 
Vienna,  that  great  city  on  the  Danube,  with  its  parks 
and  palaces,  its  Prater  and  its  moated  Laxenburg — 
Vienna  the  Kaiserstadt,  or  Imperial  City,  whose  boule- 
vards— the  Prater  Strasse,  the  Karnthner  Strasse,  the 
Tabor  Strasse,  and  the  Graben — radiate  from  St. 
Stephen's  Platz,  where  towers  the  great  Cathedral  of 
St.  Stephen,  upon  whose  roof  of  colored  tiles  a  colossal 
mosaic  of  the  Austrian  eagle  looks  with  one  head 
toward  Schonbrunn  and  with  the  other  toward  Aspern, 
Essling,  and  Deutsch-Wagram. 

Twenty-seven  days  had  passed  since  the  Emperor 
set  out  from  Paris;  Tengen,  Abensburg,  Eckmiihl  had 
been  fought;  Landshut,  Ratisbon,  Ebersberg  had  been 
stormed;  60,000  Austrians  had  been  killed  or  taken 
prisoners,  more  than  one  hundred  cannon  had  been 
captured,  the  Archduke's  army  had  been  driven  back 
into  Bohemia,  and  for  the  second  time  the  Viennese 
saw  Napoleon  at  their  gates. 

The  good  people  of  Vienna  were  much  astonished 
when  they  saw  the  French  forces.  "  Don't  be 
alarmed,"  the  Archduke  Maximilian  had  been  telling 


120  THE  GRENADIER 

them.  "  The  French  have  been  defeated.  The  Arch- 
duke Charles  stays  a  long  time  in  Bohemia,  it  is  true, 
but  it  is  a  part  of  a  series  of  skilful  manoeuvres  that  he 
is  executing.  The  French  may  send  a  detachment  to 
Vienna,  but  I  will  thrash  them  fast  enough  if  they 
come !  Don't  worry !  "  And  now  here  was  the  whole 
French  army  pouring  down  upon  Vienna — Napoleon 
at  their  head! 

The  people  ran  through  the  streets  howling  with 
rage,  and  persons  of  quiet  temperament  got  into  their 
houses  and  locked  the  doors.  When  a  French  sol- 
dier bearing  a  flag  of  truce  rode  into  the  suburbs,  the 
people  grabbed  him;  Hans  Loibel,  the  butcher's  boy, 
who  lived  in  Backer  Strasse,  ran  him  through,  and  the 
greasy  mob  put  Hans  upon  the  soldier's  horse  and 
trotted  him  about  in  triumph.  "  Down  with  the 
French !  "  they  cried.  "  Where  is  our  great  Archduke 
Maximilian,  who  promised  to  blow  them  into  little 
bits?  Come  out,  Duke  Maximilian,  and  keep  your 
word!" 

In  an  apartment  of  the  Hofburg  sat  the  Archduke 
Maximilian  and  his  second  in  command,  General 
O'Reilly. 

"Well,  they  are  here!"  said  the  Archduke  Maxi- 
milian. 

"Indeed  they  are!"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"  We  will  show  them  a  thing  or  two  before  we 
finish  with  them !  "  said  the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  Indeed  we  will! "  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"What  point  shall  we  fortify  against  them?"  asked 
the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"I  don't  know!"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

In  the  bright  May  sunshine  the  Emperor  Napoleon 


THE  BOLD  DUKE  MAXIMILIAN       121 

and  the  Marshal  Massena  rode  round  the  fortifications 
on  the  southern  side  of  the  city.  Opposite  Lusthaus 
flows  an  arm  of  the  river  called  the  Danube  canal, 
beyond  is  the  promenade  of  the  Prater,  and  further 
on  the  great  Tabor  bridge  across  the  Danube.  This 
the  Emperor  determined  to  take,  for  then  he  could 
prevent  the  Archduke  Charles  from  marching  to  re- 
lieve Vienna,  could  shut  up  the  Archduke  Maximilian 
in  the  city  and  compel  him  to  surrender.  The  Em- 
peror and  the  Marshal  rode  near  the  bank  of  the 
Danube  canal,  and  the  Emperor  examined  the  posi- 
tion. "  There  are  some  boats  over  there  at  the  left 
bank,"  said  he,  "  Massena,  send  some  swimmers  after 
them." 

The  Marshal  dispatched  his  aide-de-camp  Sigaldi  to 
the  Boudet  division,  which  was  stationed  not  far  away 
toward  Kaiser-Ebersdorf.  Soon  twenty-five  sturdy 
fellows  from  the  H5th  came  marching  up.  There 
were  Andre  Marceau,  Pierre  Pasquin,  Robert  Des- 
pienne,  Charles  Roidot,  Henri  Vatel,  and  twenty  more. 

"  Swim  across  and  bring  back  those  boats,"  said  the 
Marshal  Massena. 

They  hurried  down  to  the  bank  and  stripped  off 
their  clothes.  Robert  Despienne  was  in  the  water 
first — Robert  was  always  quick.  Pierre  was  second, 
old  Andre  Marceau  was  third,  and  the  rest  followed 
together.  They  struck  out  vigorously,  but  the  Aus- 
trians  at  the  advanced  posts  had  seen  them  and  opened 
fire.  The  balls  splashed  in  the  water  about  them. 
Pierre  was  swimming  hard  after  Robert  Despienne, 
whose  black  head  was  moving  along  before  him.  He 
could  hear  Andre  Marceau  puffing  not  far  away.  A 
musket-ball  dropped  into  the  water  before  him  and 


122  THE  GRENADIER 

splashed  it  into  his  eyes.  When  he  looked  again,  Rob- 
ert's black  head  was  gone.  Poor  Robert!  a  ball  had 
gone  through  his  eye  and  he  sank  like  a  log.  "  If 
they  keep  this  up,"  said  Andre  Marceau,  "we  shall 
none  of  us  get  over."  "Ah!"  cried  Charles  Roidot, 
and  down  he  sank.  He  had  been  shot  in  the  neck. 
He  left  a  wife  and  two  little  ones  at  Besanqon.  She 
had  had  great  faith  in  the  glory  that  was  to  come  to 
Charles  on  this  campaign — this  was  the  end  of  all 
that. 

"There  are  the  boats!"  cried  Andre  Marceau,  spit- 
ting the  water  out  of  his  mouth.  They  swam  rapidly 
on  and  were  soon  among  the  low,  black  boats  moored 
at  the  side  of  the  canal.  Not  all  of  them  were  there, 
however,  for  six  had  perished  on  the  way  over.  Pierre 
undid  the  fastenings  of  the  first  boat  with  which  he 
came  in  contact,  and  climbing  over  the  side,  seized 
the  oars.  How  hard  he  rowed ! — his  wet  body  glisten- 
ing in  the  sun.  The  others  did  the  same,  and  nineteen 
boats  shot  out  into  the  stream.  The  Austrian  fire 
began  again.  Pierre  sat  up  straight  and  rowed  with 
all  his  might.  He  remembered  how  the  "  old  ones  " 
had  laughed  when  the  "  new  ones "  ducked  at  Eck- 
miihl.  "  If  the  ball  is  going  to  hit  you,  it  will  hit  you 
anyway,"  said  Pierre,  and  on  he  went.  But  the  Aus- 
trians  dropped  Henri  Vatel  and  five  or  six  more,  and 
sent  a  ball  that  went  through  the  port  side  of  Pierre's 
boat  just  at  water-line.  He  turned  his  foot  and  stuck 
his  bare  heel  in  the  hole.  That  kept  the  water  nearly 
all  out,  and  on  he  went.  There  was  the  shore,  and  he 
gave  a  vigorous  pull  on  the  oars  which  sent  the  boat 
swashing  on  the  sand.  Then  jumping  out,  he  pulled  it 
out  of  the  water.  He  was  the  first  to  reach  the  shore. 


THE  BOLD  DUKE  MAXIMILIAN       123 

Andre  Marceau  came  in  a  few  moments  later,  the 
others  followed  rapidly,  and  in  a  dozen  minutes  there 
were  as  many  boats  in  line  at  the  Marshal's  service. 

"  That's  not  bad,"  said  Massena,  who  with  the  aide- 
de-camp  Sigaldi  was  standing  on  the  bank.  "  Dress 
fast  and  be  ready  to  take  over  some  voltigeurs." 

They  could  see  a  company  of  voltigeurs  from  the 
Boudet  division  coming  up,  and  further  on  fifteen 
twelve-pounders  advancing  at  a  trot,  for  the  Emperor 
was  going  to  establish  a  battery  on  the  side  of  the 
canal  to  demolish  the  Lusthaus  and  enfilade  the 
avenue.  Pierre  slipped  on  his  trousers  and  shirt  and 
was  about  to  put  on  his  shoes,  when  the  soldiers,  who 
were  dressing  about  him,  sprang  up,  and,  as  they 
were — naked  or  half-dressed  with  shirts  in  their 
hands — stood  at  salute.  Pierre  jumped  up  and  faced 
about  saluting,  holding  his  shoe  in  his  left  hand. 

There  on  their  restless  and  richly-trapped  chargers 
were  a  dozen  Imperial  aides-de-camp  in  gorgeous  uni- 
forms covered  with  gold  lace  and  jeweled  decorations, 
and  wearing  busbys  with  large  white  or  red  plumes, 
while  before  them  on  his  white  horse  sat  the  Emperor. 

"  You  have  done  well,"  said  His  Majesty.  "  Which 
of  you  brought  over  the  first  boat?  " 

Pierre  stepped  forward,  his  shoe  in  his  hand. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  inquired  the  Emperor. 

"  Pierre  Pasquin,  sire." 

"  Pasquin?  Pasquin?  I  have  heard  that  name  be- 
fore. Are  you  he  who  lost  the  dispatch  sent  to  me 
from  Saragossa?" 

"  It  was  stolen  from  me,  sire." 

"Stolen!  How  stolen?  Were  you  not  there  to 
defend  it?" 


124  THE  GRENADIER 

Pierre  had  never  before  seen  Napoleon  face  to  face. 
The  tone  of  the  Emperor's  voice  and  the  glance  of  the 
Emperor's  eye  so  confused  him,  that  it  is  doubtful  if 
he  could  have  answered  anything  which  would  have 
been  intelligible;  but  at  that  moment  the  Austrian 
cannon  beyond  the  Prater  thundered.  With  a  convul- 
sive movement  the  Emperor  wheeled  his  horse  about 
and  set  off  at  a  gallop  in  that  direction,  drawing  out 
his  spy-glass  as  he  went,  and  followed  furiously  by  his 
glittering  staff. 

Pierre's  legs  seemed  to  give  way  under  him.  He 
sank  down  and  began  to  put  on  his  shoes.  That  in- 
fernal episode  at  Saragossa!  He  could  never  set  it 
right!  If  he  could  only  explain  to  the  Marshal  Lannes 
perhaps  something  might  be  done,  but,  although  he 
had  seen  the  Marshal  at  Ratisbon,  he  had  had  no  op- 
portunity, and  the  Marshal  had  no  doubt  forgotten  all 
about  him  by  this  time.  Well,  it  was  just  as  the  poor 
mother  had  told  him,  "  The  Pasquins  were  not  lucky." 
He  put  on  his  shoes  and  his  coat.  "  Perhaps  my  turn 
will  come  some  day,"  he  said.  "  Anyway  no  one  shall 
say  that  Pasquin  does  not  do  his  duty,  even  if  he  is 
not  lucky." 

The  battery  established  by  the  Emperor  opened  fire 
on  the  Lusthaus,  the  voltigeurs  were  transported 
across  the  river  and  captured  the  position ;  a  bridge  of 
boats  was  rapidly  formed,  and  then  the  greater  part  of 
the  Boudet  division  marched  over  and  occupied  the 
place.  While  this  movement  was  being  executed  the 
Emperor  placed,  near  the  end  of  the  faubourg  of  the 
Landstrauss,  another  battery  of  twenty  howitzers  which 
commenced  to  throw  shells  into  the  city,  and  many 
houses  in  the  narrow  streets  were  soon  on  fire. 


THE  BOLD  DUKE  MAXIMILIAN       125 

"  It  seems  that  Bonaparte  has  captured  the  Lust- 
haus,"  said  the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  That  he  has,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"And  he  has  placed  a  battery  there,  too,"  said  the 
Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  He  has  indeed,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"  Well,  I'll  drive  him  out  of  there ! "  said  the  Arch- 
duke Maximilian. 

"  If  you  can,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

So  during  the  night  of  the  nth,  the  Archduke  sent 
two  battalions  of  grenadiers  to  seize  the  Lusthaus  and 
break  down  the  bridge  of  boats,  but  the  Boudet  volti- 
geurs,  entrenched  behind  cut  timbers  in  the  Lusthaus, 
received  them  with  a  volley  of  musketry  at  short  range, 
the  artillery  from  the  French  batteries  riddled  their 
flanks,  and  the  Austrians  retreated  beyond  the  Prater 
in  disorder.  The  Emperor  was  accomplishing  his 
purpose,  and  he  would  soon  have  the  Tabor  bridge. 

"  Now,  there's  one  way  left  us,"  said  the  Archduke 
Maximilian. 

"  What  is  that?  "  asked  General  O'Reilly. 

"I  shall  march  out  of  Vienna;  break  down  the 
Tabor  bridge;  go  and  find  the  Archduke  Charles; 
come  back  and  give  these  French  a  thrashing!"  said 
the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  A  good  plan,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"  I  shall  leave  you  in  command,"  said  the  Arch- 
duke Maximilian. 

"  I  am  honored  very  greatly,"  answered  General 
O'Reilly. 

"  I  must  take  the  garrison  with  me,  but  I'll  give  you 
five  hundred  men  of  Killer's  corps  and  one  battalion 
of  the  Landwehr,"  said  the  Archduke  Maximilian. 


126  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"  Don't  imagine  I  fear  being  taken  prisoner!  "  said 
the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  Surely  not,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

"Make  a  firm  stand,  and  I'll  return  in  triumph!" 
said  the  Archduke  Maximilian. 

"  Certainly,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 

On  the  morning  of  May  I2th,  therefore,  the  Arch- 
duke at  the  head  of  the  garrison  marched  out  of 
Vienna  across  the  Tabor  bridge,  which  he  broke 
down  behind  him.  "  Stand  firm !  good  people  of 
Vienna!"  cried  the  Archduke  Maximilian.  "Be 
united!  Remember,  I  am  before  all  else  an  Austrian! 
I  shall  soon  return  in  triumph  to  deliver  you  and  make 
the  French  repent  their  rashness!  Meanwhile,  obey 
General  O'Reilly." 

The  cannonade  was  still  continuing,  and  the  French 
shells  were  flying  into  the  city. 

"Well,  General,"  said  Colonel  Kahlenberg,  "His 
Imperial  Highness  has  gone.  What  shall  we  do  to 
save  Vienna?" 

"  Capitulate,"  said  General  O'Reilly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING 

For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion. 

— SHAKESPEARE,  King  John. 

THUS  Napoleon  took  possession  of  Vienna,  and  hav- 
ing firmly  established  himself  in  a  manner  to  use  to 
advantage  the  resources  of  that  capital  and  to  protect 
his  means  of  communication,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  the  problem  to  be  solved — namely,  to  transport 
across  the  river  1000  yards  wide,  an  army  of  150,000 
men  and  500  guns,  in  the  face  of  an  equal  force,  that 
upon  the  great  plain  of  the  Marchfeld  he  might  fight 
a  battle  which  should  terminate  the  war.  For  this 
operation  he  chose  that  part  of  the  Danube  nearest  to 
Vienna,  where  the  river,  wide  rather  than  rapid  and 
deep,  was  studded  with  islands,  and  by  this  division 
was  made  more  manageable.  Two  leagues  below 
Vienna  opposite  Enzersdorf  is  the  island  of  Lobau, 
thickly  wooded,  a  league  long  and  a  league  and  a  half 
wide.  To  reach  it  one  must  cross  the  two  arms  of  the 
great  Danube,  one  240  fathoms  wide,  the  other  120, 
with  a  sand-bank  between  them ;  while  a  narrow  branch 
of  the  river,  60  fathoms  wide,  separates  the  island  from 
the  left  bank,  where  about  the  heights  of  Deutsch- 
Wagram,  beyond  the  plain  of  the  Marchfeld,  the  Arch- 
duke Charles  was  collecting  his  army  corps. 

It  was  a  gigantic  operation,  this  crossing  of  the 


128  THE  GRENADIER 

Danube;  to  hold  in  check  the  Austrian  capital,  t& 
transport  this  mighty  mass  of  men  and  guns  and 
horses  and  ammunition  across  this  broad  impetuous 
river,  to  do  battle  on  the  plain  beyond,  with  this  river 
in  the  rear;  but  the  situation  left  no  alternative. 
Have  not  the  eagles  crossed  the  Alps,  and  shall  they 
not  cross  the  Danube,  wide  and  swift-flowing  though 
it  be?  To  work  then,  soldiers  of  France!  Collect  the 
boats  that  you  can  find  in  Vienna;  raise  and  repair 
those  which  the  Austrians,  foreseeing  your  need  of 
them,  have  sunk  in  the  river;  search  Vienna  for  cord- 
age from  one  end  to  the  other;  cut  and  saw  the  timbers 
of  the  surrounding  country  to  make  planks,  and,  as 
there  is  no  time  to  forge  anchors  from  the  iron-works 
of  Styria,  sink  in  the  river  heavy  weights — guns  found 
in  the  arsenals  of  Vienna  and  chests  filled  with  cannon- 
balls.  And  as  you  march,  and  work,  and  run,  and 
hammer,  and  saw,  and  lower,  and  hoist,  and  pull,  and 
push,  and  dig,  and  carry — be  sure  of  this;  upon  you 
all — from  the  white-plumed  Marshal  who  gives  com- 
mands, and  the  embroidered  aide-de-camp  who  carries 
orders,  to  the  humble  pontonier  who  saws  and  ham- 
mers, and  the  never-flagging  sentinel  who  paces 
through  the  thickets  of  Lobau — rests  the  "  eye  of  the 
master! " 

And  so  by  the  2oth  of  May  all  was  ready;  the 
Boudet  and  Molitor  divisions  passed  over  to  the  island 
of  Lobau,  and  Lasalle's  division  of  light  cavalry  fol- 
lowed with  two  artillery  trains.  They  drove  back  and 
captured  the  few  Austrian  outposts  on  the  island  and 
crossed  it  to  the  narrow  branch  that  lay  between  it  and 
the  left  bank.  In  a  few  hours  time  the  bridge  of 
boats  for  this  narrow  arm  of  the  river  was  prepared, 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  129 

and  MM.  Sainte-Croix  and  Baudru,  having  been 
rowed  over  with  200  voltigeurs,  drove  off  the  Austrian 
sharpshooters  and  fastened  the  cable  which  was  to 
support  the  bridge.  And  after  the  bridge  had  been 
put  in  place,  General  Lasalle  crossed  with  four  regi- 
ments of  cavalry.  It  was  a  fine  sight  to  see  them  go 
over,  so  Pierre  thought,  for  the  H5th  were  drawn  up 
near  the  bank,  waiting  their  turn  to  cross,  and  Pierre 
could  see  clearly  the  bridge,  the  river,  and  the  open 
plain  beyond. 

Lasalle  came  along  on  his  beautiful  black  horse  that 
tossed  his  head  and  curveted  and  picked  up  and  set 
down  his  feet  with  springy  precision.  And  Lasalle 
with  his  great  cocked  hat  and  big  twisted  mustache, 
clanking  sword,  prancing  horse,  and  jingling  bridle, 
looked,  as  he  was,  a  swashbuckler  par  excellence. 
Don't  fancy,  however,  that  he  was  all  waxed  mustache 
and  hussar  uniform,  sabretache,  and  nothing  more. 
He  was  the  best  light  cavalry  officer  in  the  army  and 
had  the  keenest  eye.  Pierre  remembered  a  story  that 
Andre  Marceau  had  told  them  one  night  about 
Lasalle,  how  the  Emperor  had  given  Lasalle  200,000 
francs  to  pay  his  debts  before  he  was  married,  and  how 
Lasalle  paid  his  debts  with  half  and  lost  the  other 
half  at  cards.  "  And  when  is  your  wedding,  Lasalle?  " 
said  the  Emperor  when  he  saw  him  next 

"  As  soon  as  I  have  some  money  to  begin  house- 
keeping, sire,"  said  Lasalle. 

"  What!  Why,  I  gave  you  200,000  francs  last  week! 
What  have  you  done  with  them?" 

"  Paid  my  debts  with  half  and  lost  the  other  half  at 
cards." 

And  the   Emperor,  who  would  have  scolded  any 

9 


130  THE  GRENADIER 

other  general  for  such  a  statement,  laughed,  pulled 
Lasalle's  ear  and  gave  him  another  200,000  francs. 
So  much  for  having  a  keen  eye !  thought  Pierre. 

When  General  Lasalle  reached  the  opposite  bank,  he 
drew  his  sword,  gave  that  beautiful  horse  the  spur  and 
made  him  go  bounding  off  over  the  green  Marchfeld, 
which  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see.  After  him  trotted  the 
lancers,  with  their  long  pennants  fluttering,  and  then 
came  the  hussars  and  chasseurs  clattering  over  the 
bridge — the  vanguard  of  Napoleon's  great  army  had 
passed  the  Danube!  Then  the  Boudet  division  was 
marched  over  and  the  other  divisions  followed,  and 
they  advanced  through  the  grain  fields  to  the  village 
of  Essling.  Pierre  trudged  along  and  looked  at  the 
fields  and  the  little  houses  of  Essling  spread  out  on 
the  plain.  Over  to  the  left  he  could  see  the  church 
tower  of  Aspern.  The  sun  became  hot,  and  the  in- 
sects buzzed  about  among  the  growing  corn  and  gar- 
den truck  of  the  Essling  farmers.  Pierre  did  not  feel 
very  joyous  that  morning.  He  seemed  so  small  and 
insignificant  among  that  great  host  massed  in  and 
around  Vienna;  and  sometimes  he  wondered  how  he 
had  ever  come  to  imagine  that  any  honor  would  come 
to  him.  He  had  been  up  nearly  all  night,  working 
about  the  bridge  and  crossing  to  the  island  of  Lobau; 
then,  two  days  before,  he  had  lost  a  shoe  and  had  had 
to  borrow  one  from  Andre  Marceau.  It  was  too  tight 
and  had  rubbed  his  heel  so  that  he  could  hardly  walk. 
And  when  they  were  crossing  from  the  island  of 
Lobau,  his  tooth — that  wretched  back  tooth  in  his 
lower  right  jaw — had  begun  to  ache,  and  now  it  was 
making  his  head  crack.  His  knapsack  weighed  a  ton, 
he  thought,  and  his  gun  at  least  half  a  ton;  the  sun's 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  131 

rays  grew  hotter,  and  the  dust  rolled  up  thick  and 
slowly  settled  in  his  ears  and  eyes.  Things  looked 
peaceful  enough  about  this  little  town  of  Essling. 
There  would  probably  be  little  done  there  that  day; 
and  suppose  there  were  fighting — what  chance  for 
him,  an  insignificant  soldier?  Look  at  all  those 
plumed  officers,  gold-laced  aides-de-camp,  jingling 
hussar  captains,  and  majestic  marshals!  The  world 
stood  at  salute  when  they  went  by!  He  was  only  a 
poor  chap  who  was  "  not  lucky,"  who  had  a  sore  heel 
and  the  toothache — could  he  ever  hope  to  be  like 
them?  Ah!  what  was  it  that  Andre  Marceau,  by  the 
camp-fire  before  Eckmiihl,  had  told  them  the  Emperor 
said? — "  Every  French  soldier  carries  in  his  knapsack 
the  baton  of  a  Marshal  of  France !  "  Every  French 
soldier?  Yes,  every  French  soldier!  It  would — it 
must  prove  true!  It  was  the  Imperial  word! 

The  Boudet  division  was  stationed  in  Essling,  where 
an  enclosure  with  a  large  house  of  hewn  stone  formed 
a  citadel.  The  Molitor  division  was  marched  to  As- 
pern,  and  between  Aspern  and  Essling  were  placed  the 
cavalry  and  artillery,  while  across  the  bridges  and  the 
island  of  Lobau  more  troops — infantry,  cavalry,  and 
artillery — were  being  hastened  forward  to  reinforce 
those  corps  already  in  Aspern-Essling.  So  the  hours 
of  the  morning  passed  quietly  enough  for  the  H5th  of 
the  Line  in  Essling,  but  about  noon,  far  in  the  distance 
across  the  Marchfeld,  they  saw  the  advance  guard  of 
the  army  of  the  Archduke  Charles.  Nearer  and 
nearer  they  came  in  a  vast  semicircle  toward  Aspern- 
Essling,  until  their  white  uniforms  and  glittering  arms 
were  seen  clearly  beyond  the  green  corn-fields.  The 
Marshal  Berthier,  who  had  the  best  eye  of  any  man 


132  THE  GRENADIER 

in  the  army  for  measuring  extent  of  ground  and  num- 
bers of  men,  calculated,  from  his  post  in  the  church 
tower  at  Aspern,  that  they  were  90,000  strong  and  sent 
this  word  to  the  Emperor.  As  yet  only  six  divisions — 
the  infantry  divisions  of  Molitor,  Boudet,  and  Legrand, 
and  the  cavalry  divisions  of  Lasalle,  Marulaz,  and 
Espagne — in  all  about  23,000  men,  had  crossed  the 
river.  But  the  Emperor  determined  to  hold  Aspern- 
Essling,  to  recover  which  would  cost  too  much;  and 
he  hurried  forward  the  passage  of  the  army  from  the 
right  bank.  So  the  Imperial  aide-de-camp,  Cesar  de 
Laville,  came  riding  up  to  the  Boudet  division  and 
said  to  General  Boudet,  "  The  Emperor  orders  you  to 
hold  Essling!" 

Villages  of  Aspern-Essling,  on  you  the  sun  shines 
brightly,  about  you  the  waving  corn-fields  and  the 
quiet  kitchen-gardens  grow  peacefully,  and  in  your 
white-walled  streets  the  fluttering  standards  and  the 
many-colored  uniforms  glitter  resplendent.  But 
before  another  sun  shall  rise  your  gardens  will  be 
trampled  in  the  mire,  your  walls  be  torn  with  shot  and 
shell,  your  towers  fall,  your  houses  burst  with  flame, 
your  streets  run  red  with  blood!  'Tis  two  o'clock! 
Your  hour  has  come!  The  cannon  on  the  Marchfeld 
thunders!  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  the  Archduke 
Charles  of  Hapsburg  have  let  loose  on  you  "  the  dogs 
of  war!" 

The  Austrians  directed  their  main  attack  on  As- 
pern, which  was  furiously  assailed  by  the  corps  of 
Hiller,  Hohenzollern,  and  Lieutenant-General  Belle- 
garde.  Prince  Lichtenstein  and  the  Austrian  cavalry 
charged  the  cavalry  of  Lannes  posted  between  Aspern- 
Essling,  while  the  corps  of  Rosenberg  advanced 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  133 

against  the  latter  place.  Thus  all  the  afternoon  the 
conflict  raged.  Again  and  again  the  Austrian  grena- 
diers charged  through  the  streets  of  Aspern.  Again 
and  again  the  French  drove  them  back.  Twice  the 
corps  of  Rosenberg  advanced  through  the  streets  of 
Essling,  and  twice  the  soldiers  of  the  Boudet  division 
drove  them  back.  Prince  Lichtenstein's  white-coated 
horsemen  and  Lasalle's  fur-jacketed  hussars  met  in 
full  career,  and  reared,  and  pranced,  and  cut,  and 
slashed,  and  whirled  away  to  the  trumpet-blast.  As- 
pern was  on  fire  in  many  places,  and  Essling  smoked, 
blackened  and  dismantled — and  all  the  time  across  the 
bridges  of  the  Danube  and  the  island  of  Lobau  came 
the  French  army — horse,  man,  and  gun — advancing  to 
the  seat  of  war.  So  the  French  held  their  own,  and 
when  night  came,  and  the  firing,  charging,  stabbing, 
trampling  ceased,  Napoleon  had  transported  60,000 
men  across  the  Danube,  ready  for  the  battle  of  the 
morrow.  If  with  30,000  men  and  fifty  guns  he  had 
held  this  great  mass  of  Austrians  in  check,  would  he 
not  beat  them  on  the  morrow,  now  that  he  had  trans- 
ported 150  guns  and  60,000  men?  Beat  them?  Yes — 
if  ammunition  did  not  fail  and  the  Danube  bridge  held 
firm! 

Night  came.  Pierre  was  on  guard  duty  on  the  em- 
bankment before  Essling,  and  with  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder  he  paced  along  the  smooth,  narrow  path. 
Around  him  was  the  broad,  dark  Marchfeld,  and  in 
the  distance  the  Austrian  fires.  Behind  him  was  Ess- 
ling,  dark  and  silent,  its  weary  defenders  stretched  in 
sleep  about  the  bivouacs  in  the  streets  or  in  the 
houses.  To  his  left  was  Aspern,  its  smoking  ruins 
still  sending  forth  in  some  places  a  dull  red  glow. 


134  THE  GRENADIER 

Over  the  dark  Marchfeld  glittered  here  and  there,  like 
busy  fireflies,  the  lights  of  the  ambulance  corps  pick- 
ing up  the  wounded,  and  ever  and  anon  upon  the  still 
night  air  was  heard  the  far-distant  blast  of  a  cavalry 
bugle  or  an  adjacent  groan.  And  the  moon  came  up 
and  shed  her  quiet  light  over  the  green  Marchfeld, 
making  the  lights  of  the  ambulance  corps  grow  dim, 
covering  the  battered  walls  of  Essling  with  hazy 
romance,  and  drawing  from  the  stacks  of  arms  in 
Essling's  streets  a  glancing  gleam.  Shine  on,  silver 
Diana,  you  are  queen  to-night!  Your  reign  is  peace! 
The  first  beams  of  the  morning  will  announce  the 
chariot  of  the  Sun  and  crimson-crested  Mars! 

As  Pierre  paced  thus  in  the  moonlight,  he  saw  a 
man,  wrapped  in  a  long  dark  cloak,  advancing  along 
the  embankment.  His  head  was  somewhat  bent  and 
his  high  cocked  hat  concealed  his  face.  "  Halt!  "  said 
Pierre.  The  man  raised  his  head  abruptly,  and  at  the 
same  instant  Pierre  recognized — the  Marshal  Lannes. 
He  saluted  and  waited  for  the  Marshal  to  speak.  "  Is 
all  quiet?"  said  Lannes.  "All  is  quiet,  Monsieur  le 
Marechal,"  answered  Pierre.  The  Marshal  saluted 
him  and  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  Pierre,  whose 
heart  was  beating  thump!  thump!  said  suddenly, 
"  Monsieur  le  Marechal !  " 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  remember,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  at  Sara- 
gossa  a  soldier  named  Pasquin  whom  you  sent  to 
Tudela  with  a  letter  for  the  Emperor?  " 

"Yes,  well?" 

"  That  letter  was  never  delivered,  Monsieur  le 
Marechal." 

"I  know  it,  and  what  of  this  soldier?  " 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  135 

"  He  is  here  before  you,  Monsieur  le  Marechal." 

Lannes  stepped  quickly  forward  and  looked  closely 
at  Pierre.  "  And  why  did  you  not  hand  my  letter  to 
the  Baron  Lejeune?"  inquired  the  Marshal  sternly. 
Then  on  the  embankment,  in  the  quiet  night,  Pierre 
told  him  the  story;  how  he  and  Jean  had  ridden 
out  of  Saragossa,  and  what  had  happened  on  the  ris- 
ing ground  near  Alagon,  and  how,  when  life  seemed 
dark  indeed,  there  came  a  bright  angel  in  a  little  creak- 
ing cart.  And  the  Marshal  heard  the  story  in  silence, 
wrapped  in  his  cloak,  looking  out  over  the  dark 
Marchfeld.  When  Pierre  had  finished,  quick  as  a 
flash  the  Marshal  whirled  about,  looked  him  in  the 
eyes  and  asked  roughly,  "  Boy,  are  you  telling  me  the 
truth?"  And  Pierre  looked  back  at  him  steadily  and 
said,  "  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,  Monsieur  le 
Marechal." 

"  Yes,  so  you  are,"  said  Lannes. 

"  And  what  has  become  of  Jean  Deteau,  Monsieur 
le  Marechal?  " 

"  Deteau?  He  was  transferred  to  Marshal  Soult's 
staff.  He  is  still  in  Spain.  Well,  justice  shall  be 
done,  young  man,  when  we  get  back  to  Paris.  Now 
we  have  work.  To-morrow  strike  your  blows  for 
France!  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  for  France  and  for  the 
Emperor! " 

The  Marshal  passed  on,  and  Pierre  was  left  alone 
upon  the  embankment.  At  four  in  the  morning  the 
French  and  Austrian  sharpshooters  began  to  exchange 
shots,  and  Napoleon,  on  horseback  at  the  tile-yard  be- 
tween Aspern-Essling,  gave  his  orders  to  his  Mar- 
shals. Massena  with  the  Molitor,  Legrand,  and  Carra 


136  THE  GRENADIER 

St  Cyr  divisions  was  to  hold  Aspern,  and  Lannes 
with  the  Boudet,  St.  Hilaire,  and  Oudinot  divisions 
was  to  hold  Essling,  while  between  the  towns  were 
the  French  cavalry  and  artillery,  and  in  reserve  toward 
the  Danube  was  the  Imperial  Guard. 

The  battle  began  furiously,  and  while  Massena  held 
Aspern  with  stubborn  tenacity  and  Boudet  held  Ess- 
ling  with  cool  firmness,  Lannes,  with  20,000  infantry 
and  6000  cavalry,  advanced  into  the  plain  against  the 
Austrian  centre.  The  Austrians,  assailed  throughout 
their  whole  line,  began  to  fall  back.  Vainly  the  Arch- 
duke Charles  strove  to  rally  his  wavering  centre; 
vainly  he  seized  the  flag  of  Bach's  division  and  led  it 
forward  in  person,  giving  to  his  soldiers  the  inspiring 
example  of  an  Imperial  Prince  of  Hapsburg  advanc- 
ing under  fire.  The  Austrian  centre  still  fell  slowly 
back,  when  all  at  once  the  French  halted,  and  their 
eagles,  a  moment  before  flying  victoriously,  fluttered 
in  the  midst  of  the  Marchfeld  with  smoke  and  fire  on 
every  side.  For  an  Imperial  aide-de-camp  had 
brought  to  Marshal  Lannes  the  Emperor's  orders  to 
suspend  his  forward  movement  and  fall  back  gradually 
to  the  line  of  Aspern-Essling,  sparing  his  ammunition. 
The  great  bridge  across  the  Danube,  owing  to  the 
swelling  of  the  flood  and  the  timbers  and  burning 
buildings  which  the  Austrians  floated  down  the  stream, 
had  broken  just  as  Davout's  artillery  regiments  and 
wagons  were  preparing  to  cross,  and  now  the  Em- 
peror of  the  French,  with  60,000  men,  was  cut  off  from 
his  main  army  on  the  right  bank  and  from  all  his 
ammunition!  The  Danube  in  his  rear  and  90,000 
Austrians  before  him !  It  was  nine  in  the  morning  on 
the  22d  of  May,  and  not  until  night  could  the  French 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  137 

hope  to  retreat  over  the  single  bridge  uniting  the  left 
bank  to  the  island  of  Lobau.  The  corps  of  Marshal 
Lannes  fell  back,  and  all  along  their  line  the  Austrians 
advanced  with  renewed  vigor.  In  and  about  Aspern- 
Essling  the  battle  began  again  more  furiously  than 
ever.  To  the  left  of  Essling,  Rosenberg  brought  up 
fifty  guns,  and  they  began — roar  and  thunder,  thunder 
and  roar!  Crash!  crash!  the  roofs  of  the  houses  of 
Essling,  along  the  street  leading  to  the  citadel,  fell 
into,  and  beside  the  houses.  Bricks,  stones,  and 
mortar  lay  in  heaps,  and  walls  fell  in,  and  houses 
blazed,  and  timbers  were  hurled  through  the  air,  and 
smoke  and  dust  were  on  every  side.  The  soldiers  of 
the  usth  barricaded  themselves  with  wagons,  ploughs, 
beams  and  stones,  and  when  the  Hungarian  grenadiers 
came  charging  up  the  street,  they  gave  them  a  volley 
that  sent  them  charging  back  again.  A  shell  fell  near 
Francois  Legrand  and  burst,  knocking  Francois 
down.  But  Francois  got  up,  covered  with  dirt,  and 
waved  his  sword  and  cried,  "  Your  Captain  is  not 
hurt!  You  may  depend  upon  him!  Aim  straighter 
next  time,  Austrian  fools !  " 

Again  the  Austrians  charged  and  again  were 
beaten  back.  A  cannon-ball  struck  a  whole  file  and 
knocked  them  on  top  of  Captain  Legrand,  and  under 
the  pile  of  wounded,  bleeding  men,  they  heard  Fran- 
c,ois  shouting,  "Close  up  the  ranks!"  Pierre  helped 
to  drag  him  out  and  cried,  "  Captain,  the  hilt  of  your 
sabre  is  gone!"  "No  matter,"  said  Franqois,  "the 
battle  is  not  over  yet." 

Now  the  cannon  thundered  faster  and  faster.  The 
balls  came  and  rolled  over  three  men  at  a  time,  and 
sent  the  grenadiers'  caps  spinning  twenty  feet  in  the 


138  THE  GRENADIER 

air,  but  as  soon  as  one  file  was  down,  there  came  from 
Frangois  the  stern  command,  "Close  the  ranks!" 
The  file  next  Pierre  was  cut  down,  and  something 
struck  him  on  the  arm.  He  dropped  his  gun,  think- 
ing that  his  arm  was  cut  off,  for  it  had  no  feeling  in 
it.  And  then  he  saw  a  piece  of  flesh  sticking  to  his 
wrist,  a  piece  of  flesh  of  one  of  his  brave  comrades 
which  had  been  dashed  against  him  with  such  violence 
that  it  had  adhered  to  his  wrist!  Andre  Marceau  came 
up  and  shook  his  arm,  and  the  piece  of  flesh  fell  off. 
How  glad  Pierre  was  to  find  that  his  arm  was  only 
stunned,  and  that  he  could  use  his  fingers!  "Leave 
your  gun  and  take  your  sabre,"  said  Andre  Marceau. 
"  I  have  none,"  said  Pierre,  "  a  ball  carried  it  away." 
So  he  took  his  gun  in  his  left  hand.  Then  a  ball  from 
an  Austrian  twelve-pounder  crashed  into  the  roof  of 
the  granary  and  sent  the  stones  flying,  and  Charles 
Varterre  ducked  his  head.  "  You  must  not  duck  your 
head!"  shouted  Francois  Legrand,  slapping  him  on 
the  knapsack  with  his  sabre.  "I  won't!"  cried 
Charles,  and  up  he  stood.  Again  the  Austrians  came 
in  solid  column,  spitting  flame.  "Forward!"  cried 
Legrand.  And  over  the  debris  in  the  street  and  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  comrades  they  rushed  and  met 
with  a  crash,  and  for  a  few  moments  there  was  shout- 
ing, swearing,  sabring,  bayoneting,  and  pandemonium 
supreme.  Pierre  received  a  cut  from  a  bayonet  over 
his  left  eye,  as  he  parried  the  thrust  of  an  Austrian 
grenadier.  Then  the  Austrians  fell  back,  and  Pierre 
saw  Francois  Legrand  surrounded  by  three  of  them, 
who  had  seized  him  and  were  shouting,  "  Surrender! " 
Pierre  ran  up  and,  pointing  his  gun  with  his  left  hand, 
he  made  it  play  see-saw  with  his  right,  and  plunged 
his  bayonet  into  the  bellies  of  first  one  and  then 


THE  STREET  OF  ESSLING  139 

another  of  the  Austrian  grenadiers.  The  third  was 
thrown  down  by  Frangois,  who  ran  his  sword  into  his 
throat.  Pierre  was  wet  with  sweat,  and  cov- 
ered with  dirt  and  bits  of  mortar,  and  his  face  was 
red  with  blood  from  the  cut  in  his  forehead,  and  his 
bayonet  and  the  barrel  of  his  gun  were  smeared  with 
blood  and  entrails.  And  so  the  fight  went  on.  Again 
the  Austrians  charged;  Pierre  saw  an  Austrian  captain 
leading,  and,  taking  a  cartridge,  he  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  for  good  luck,  rammed  it  in  his  gun,  fired, 
and  hit  the  Austrian  in  the  face.  And  so  the  fight 
went  on. 

Now  the  Austrians  brought  up  more  artillery. 
They  must  drive  the  French  out  of  this  little  town  of 
Essling;  they  must  get  to  the  bridge,  and  if  they  did, 
it  would  be  all  up  with  the  French  army,  it  would  be 
all  up  with  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  It  was  well 
toward  evening  now.  Essling  was  broken  and  bat- 
tered from  one  end  to  the  other;  the  houses  were  on 
fire,  and  there  were  barricades  of  stone,  great  timbers, 
dismantled  guns,  abandoned  knapsacks  and  cartridge- 
boxes,  dead  horses,  dead  Austrians,  dead  Frenchmen, 
bloody  corpses  torn  and  mangled,  bloody  walls  and 
smoking  ruins  everywhere.  When  for  the  sixth  time 
the  Austrians  advanced,  and  the  brave  Boudet  cried, 
"Charge!"  there  were  few  left  to  respond  to  his  call; 
and  at  last  they  were  driven  back  into  the  granary  and 
surrounded.  As  they  fell  back,  Frangois  Legrand  saw 
an  Austrian  battalion  coming  up  through  one  of  the 
narrow  streets  amid  the  smoke  and  flame.  If  they 
could  pass  this  street,  they  could  pass  the  granary, 
they  could  penetrate  Essling,  they  could  reach  the 
bridge,  they  could —  "Forward!"  shouted  Francois, 
and  the  3rd  company  of  the  H5th  ran  after  him  to  the 


140  THE  GRENADIER 

head  of  the  narrow  street.  They  seized  a  wagon, 
threw  it  over,  and  when  the  Austrians  were  within 
range,  gave  them  a  volley.  The  Austrians  returned 
their  fire  furiously,  and  they  fired  again,  and  the  Aus- 
trians returned  it,  and  they  fired  again,  and  as  they 
were  shot  down,  their  comrades  piled  their  dead 
bodies  beside  the  wagon  and  fought  behind  them  as 
from  a  rampart.  Soldiers  of  the  Boudet  division,  do 
you  know  the  work  cut  out  for  you?  It  is  this — con- 
quer or  die!  Yes,  they  knew  it,  and  as  they  saw  the 
Austrian  cannon  preparing  to  fire,  they  said  to  one 
another,  "  That  one  is  for  me !  "  "  All  right,  I  will  get 
behind  you.  That  is  a  good  place.  Keep  quiet." 

So  night  settled  down,  but  enveloped  by  smoke  they 
fought  by  the  light  of  burning  houses,  and,  when 
they  fired,  the  Austrians  fell,  and  when  the  Austrians 
fired,  they  fell,  and  the  wall  of  bodies  grew  higher  and 
higher.  And  after  a  time  there  were  leit  behind  that 
wagon  and  that  wall  of  bleeding  corpses,  only  three — 
Frangois  Legrand,  Pierre  Pasquin,  Andre  Marceau — 
and  they  were  black  with  dirt,  and  singed  with  fire,  and 
red  with  blood  from  crown  to  heel.  And  alone  against 
that  host  they  loaded  their  muskets  and  cried,  "  For 
France!"  and  fired,  and,  when  they  fired,  three  Aus- 
trians fell.  Ah!  not  since  the  days  of  the  Eternal 
City,  when  the  Spurius  Lartius  on  his  right  and  Her- 
minius  on  his  left,  Horatius  held  the  bridge  against 
Lars  Porsena,  had  the  world  seen  braver  work  than 
this.  And  when  some  hours  later  General  Mouton, 
at  the  head  of  the  fusileers  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  came 
charging  into  Essling,  bringing  relief,  respite,  and 
rescue — amid  the  blazing  houses,  the  falling  timbers, 
and  the  crash  of  arms,  still  came  from  those  three  the 
all-conquering  shout,  "Vive  1'Empereur!" 


CHAPTER  XV 
IN  THE  ISLAND  OF  LOBAU 

What  though  the  field  be  lost? 

All  is  not  lost;  the  unconquerable  will 

And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield. 

— MILTON,  Paradise  Lost. 

FOR  thirty  hours  the  battle  had  raged  in  and  about 
Aspern-Essling,  and  then  the  Archduke  Charles,  des- 
pairing of  driving  the  French  into  the  river,  and  find- 
ing that  he  was  running  short  of  ammunition,  gradu- 
ally withdrew  his  forces  and  sullenly  waited  for  day. 

Near  the  bank  of  the  small  arm  of  the  Danube, 
under  a  great  fir-tree  on  the  island  of  Lobau,  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon  paced  to  and  fro,  while  at  a  little 
distance  stood  the  Marshals  Bessieres  and  Massena 
and  the  Prince  of  Neufchatel,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  across  the  narrow  bridge  that 
united  the  island  to  the  left  bank  passed  and  repassed 
the  ambulance  corps,  carrying  the  wounded.  No  word 
was  spoken  by  those  four.  The  Marshals  stood  in 
silence,  and  the  Emperor  walked  in  silence,  occasion- 
ally striking  his  boots  with  his  riding-whip,  or  opening 
his  snuff-box  and,  without  making  use  of  it,  snapping 
the  lid  mechanically  again.  What  a  day  it  had  been! 
Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  the  best  soldiers 
of  France  lay  dead  and  dying  in  those  villages  of 
Aspern-Essling,  sacrificed  by  stern  necessity  to  save 


142  THE  GRENADIER 

the  balance  of  the  army  and  repair  the  fault  of  having 
with  a  presumption  born  of  years  of  triumph,  crossed, 
on  a  single  bridge,  the  widest  river  in  Europe,  in  the 
face  of  all  the  power  of  the  Austrian  Empire. 

St  Hilaire,  the  veteran  of  Italy,  would  lead  the 
charge  no  more;  and  Lannes,  the  old  comrade  of  the 
early  days,  struck  by  the  cannon-ball  at  Essling,  was 
soon  to  close  his  glorious  career  of  arms  and  perish, 
"  a  giant,"  when  giants  were  most  needed  to  extricate 
the  army  from  its  perilous  position.  In  the  heart  of 
the  Austrian  Empire,  France  and  her  victorious  Em- 
peror had  received  a  check,  and  let  it  once  be  thought 
that  check  had  impaired  their  prestige,  and  Germany, 
affrighted  by  Ratisbon  and  Eckmiihl,  would  recover 
courage,  Austria  would  awake  to  new  vigor,  Holland 
would  lift  up  her  head,  Spain  would  shout  more 
fiercely  her  guerilla  war-cry,  England  would  scatter 
firebrands  on  every  side,  and  from  the  Baltic  to 
Gibraltar  one  shout  would  reverberate  through 
Europe—"  On  to  Paris!  " 

So  in  silence  the  Emperor  paced  the  bank,  and  the 
Marshals  awaited  his  pleasure.  Soon  the  splash  of 
oars  was  heard,  and  a  boat  rowed  by  four  voltigeurs 
was  seen  nearing  the  shore;  it  contained  the  Marshal 
Davout.  When  the  Marshal  had  landed  he  joined  the 
Emperor,  and  together  they  went  to  the  great  fir-tree, 
where  the  Emperor  sat  down  on  a  log.  Marshal 
Davout  sat  on  one  side  of  him  and  Marshal  Massena 
upon  the  other,  while  Bessieres  and  the  Prince  of 
Neufchatel  stood  wrapped  in  their  cloaks.  It  was  a 
council  of  war. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Emperor  to  the  Prince  of  Neuf- 
chatel, "  what  is  your  opinion?  " 


IN  THE  ISLAND  OF  LOBAU  143 

"  Sire,  I  do  not  see  what  we  can  do  but  cross  to  the 
right  bank  as  best  we  can.  After  the  terrible  losses 
we  have  experienced  to-day  we  certainly  cannot  remain 
longer  on  the  left  bank.  It  seems  to  me  that  our 
only  hope  lies  in  getting  back  into  Vienna." 

"  And  what  do  you  think?  "  said  the  Emperor,  turn- 
ing to  Marshal  Bessieres. 

"  I  am  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  Prince  of  Neuf- 
chatel,  sire." 

"  Are  you  of  the  same  opinion,  Massena?  "  inquired 
the  Emperor. 

"  I  think,  sire,  that  it  would  be  extremely  dangerous 
for  us  to  attempt  to  maintain  our  position  in  Lobau. 
Our  losses  to-day  have  been  something " 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Emperor  quietly. 

Davout  said  nothing,  but  his  face  was  very  sad. 
"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  the  day  has  been 
a  severe  one,  but  it  cannot  be  considered  a  defeat,  since 
we  remain  masters  of  the  field  of  battle.  It  is  doing 
a  great  deal  to  retire  safe  after  such  a  conflict;  sus- 
tained with  a  huge  river  at  our  back  and  our  bridges 
destroyed.  Our  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  is  great, 
greater  than  any  we  have  before  suffered  in  our  long 
wars,  but  that  of  the  enemy  must  have  been  a  third 
greater.  There  is  a  retrograde  movement,  proper  and 
necessary,  to  recross  the  small  arm  of  the  Danube  and 
wait  there  for  the  water  to  subside  and  the  bridge  to 
be  rebuilt.  This  movement  can  be  performed  to-night 
without  losing  a  single  wounded  man,  a  single  horse, 
or  a  single  gun;  above  all,  without  losing  honor.  But 
there  is  another  retrograde  movement,  dishonoring 
and  disastrous,  to  repass  not  only  the  small  arm  but 
also  the  great  arm  of  the  Danube,  scrambling  over  this 


144  THE  GRENADIER 

as  best  we  can  with  boats  that  can  carry  only  sound 
men,  abandoning  our  wounded,  our  cannon,  and  our 
horses,  and  also  the  island  of  Lobau,  which  is  the  true 
ground  for  ultimately  effecting  a  passage.  If  we  act 
thus  and  present  ourselves  thus  to  the  Viennese,  they 
will  overwhelm  us  with  scorn  and  soon  summon  the 
Archduke  Charles  to  expel  us  from  the  capital.  In 
that  case  it  is  not  a  retreat  to  Vienna  for  which  we 
must  prepare,  but  a  retreat  to  Strassburg.  Prince 
Eugene,  now  on  the  march  to  Vienna,  will  find  the 
enemy  there  and  perish  in  the  trap.  Our  allies,  made 
treacherous  by  weakness,  will  turn  against  us.  The 
fortune  of  the  Empire  will  be  at  an  end!  The  gran- 
deur of  France  will  be  destroyed!  Davout  and  Mas- 
sena,  Lannes  is  dying,  but  you  live,  you  will  save  the 
army! " 

The  impulsive  Massena  jumped  up  and  seized  the 
Emperor's  hand. 

"  You  are  a  man  of  courage,  sire,  and  worthy  to 
command  us ! "  he  cried. 

"  No !  we  must  not  fly  like  cravens  who  have  been 
beaten!  Fortune  has  not  been  kind  to  us,  but  we  are 
victorious,  nevertheless,  for  the  enemy,  who  ought  to 
have  driven  us  into  the  Danube,  have  fallen  before  our 
positions.  Let  us  cross  only  the  small  arm  of  the  river, 
and  I  pledge  my  word  to  drown  in  it  every  Austrian 
who  shall  attempt  to  cross  it  in  pursuit  of  us ! " 

And  Davout  said  in  his  quiet  way,  "  I  will  defend 
Vienna  from  any  attack  by  way  of  Presburg,  or 
Krems,  during  the  renovation  of  the  bridges." 

"Your  Majesty  is  right,"  said  the  Prince  of  Neuf- 
chatel.  So  the  council  broke  up.  The  Marshal  Mas- 
sena returned  to  Aspern  to  superintend  the  passage  of 


IN  THE  ISLAND  OF  LOBAU  145 

the  army  to  the  island  of  Lobau,  while  Napoleon  and 
the  Prince  of  Neufchatel  entered  a  boat  to  cross  the 
main  branch  cf  the  river  to  the  right  bank. 

It  was  twelve  at  night,  and  the  darkness  dense  and 
black,  and  the  great  flood  rolled  along  the  timbers 
and  debris,  which  the  Austrians  above  Aspern  kept 
sending  down  the  stream. 

Row  steadily,  boatmen,  be  not  dismayed  by  the 
darkness  of  the  night  or  the  surging  of  the  Danube! 
You  will  reach  the  shore  in  safety — you  bear  "  Caesar 
and  his  fortunes !  " 


10 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO 

The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 
Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things; 

There  is  no  armor  against  fate; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hands  on  kings. 
— SHIRLEY,  Contention  of  Aja.r  and  Ulysses. 

FATIGUE  clips  the  laurels  of  victory.  After  his  exer- 
tion at  Essling,  Pierre  was  greatly  depressed;  nature 
demanded  her  due.  But  although  he  lacked  rest,  he 
did  not  lack  misfortune.  He  was  frying  a  piece  of 
bacon  with  Andre  Marceau  when  Frangois  Legrand 
came  running  toward  them.  "  Here's  a  biscuit  for 
you,  Frangois,"  said  Andre.  Frangois  reached  the  fire 
and  stopped.  He  paid  no  attention  to  Andre's  biscuit; 
he  swore.  Now,  there  are  different  degrees  of  swear- 
ing. There  is  the  oath  habitual,  the  oath  circumstan- 
tial, the  oath  terrible,  and  the  oath  artistic.  Frangois' 
swearing  combined  the  last  two.  He  cursed  the  Aus- 
trians  alive  and  dead ;  he  cursed  them  in  monosyllables 
and  in  sentences;  he  consigned  them  individually  and 
collectively  to  the  depths  of  hell,  while  against  the 
gunners  of  Enzersdorf  in  particular  he  hurled  a  whirl- 
wind of  blasphemy.  Pierre  and  Andre  looked  in 
surprise. 

"What's  happened?"  said  Pierre. 

" '  Ajax '  is  killed !  "  cried  Frangois,  and  he  sobbed. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO         147 

"The  devil!"  cried  Andre  Marceau.  Then  he 
swore;  but  he  was  no  past-master  in  profanity,  so  his 
attempt  seemed  tame  after  what  had  preceded. 

Pierre's  heart  was  chilled — it  meant  so  much  to  him. 
Ajax!  did  he  not  say  on  the  Essling  embankment. 
'Justice  shall  be  done,  young  man,  when  we  get 
back  to  Paris  "?  Who  would  see  now  that  justice  was 
done?  Ajax,  his  friend,  was  gone! 

In  one  point,  however,  Francois  was  mistaken,  as 
Pierre  learned  later.  The  Marshal  Lannes  was  not 
dead,  but  dying.  He  had  been  struck  down  at  the 
close  of  the  day  of  the  fight  at  Aspern-Essfing,  when, 
sitting  down  to  await  the  carrying  out  of  orders  he  had 
given,  a  three-pound  shot  from  a  gun  at  Enzersdorf 
had  crashed  into  his  knees,  smashing  the  kneepan  of 
the  one,  and  tearing  the  sinews  of  the  other.  He  had 
been  carried  to  the  tete-de-pont  of  the  bridge,  where 
Dr.  Larrey,  against  the  advice  of  Dr.  Yvan,  had  ampu- 
tated one  of  his  legs.  There  the  Emperor  had  found 
him,  and  knelt  by  the  stretcher  to  embrace  his  old 
comrade,  whose  blood  stained  his  kerseymere  waist- 
coat. Then  across  the  island  of  Lobau  he  had  been 
brought  to  Kaiser-Ebersdorf,  and,  when  he  was  unable 
to  drink  the  muddy  water  of  the  Danube,  Marbot  had 
filtered  it  through  one  of  the  Marshal's  shirts  and  thus 
relieved  his  thirst  And  now  in  a  house  at  Ebersdorf, 
with  one  leg  gone  and  the  other  swathed  in  bloody 
bandages,  the  Marshal  Duke  of  Montebello  lay  dying 
— dying  when  France  had  need  of  him! 

A  brave  man,  this  Marshal  Duke  of  Montebello! 
We,  who  have  seen  him  in  the  breach  at  Saragossa  and 
before  the  walls  of  Ratisbon,  have  seen  little  of  his 
history.  Let  us  look  more  closely  at  his  brave  career. 


148  THE  GRENADIER 

Jean  was  his  name,  and  he  was  born  in  the  Gascon 
town,  Lectoure,  in  April,  1769,  and  so  was  four  months 
older  than  his  Emperor  and  friend.  His  father  was  a 
dyer,  and  the  young  Lannes  learned  his  trade,  and 
learned,  too,  from  his  elder  brother,  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic.  Then  came  the  Revolution,  and  under 
the  banner  of  "  Liberte,  Egalite,  Fraternite,"  shouting 
"  Ca  ira!"  and  "Allons  enfants  de  la  patrie!" 
monarch-terrifying,  throne-shaking,  people-rescuing, 
young  France  began  to  march! 

And  Lannes  marched,  too,  enrolling  in  the  volun- 
teers of  Gers,  and  soon  his  comrades  named  him  sous- 
lieutenant.  Why?  Because  they  found  him  zealous, 
brave,  hard-working,  and  of  ready  wit.  He  served  in 
the  Pyrenees  with  Augereau  and  was  made  a  colonel, 
and  then  was  sent  to  Italy,  where  soon  a  greater  than 
Augereau  came  to  take  command.  Firm  friends  they 
were,  the  thin,  sallow  Bonaparte  and  the  dashing 
Gascon  colonel,  and  side  by  side  they  fought  across 
the  bridge  at  Lodi,  in  the  marshes  of  Arcole,  and  on 
the  plain  at  Rivoli.  And  then  in  Egypt,  where,  amid 
Mamelukes,  pyramids,  and  Pharaohs,  they  traced  at 
St.  Jean  d'Acre  the  footprints  of  Richard  the  Lion- 
hearted.  Then  through  the  i8th  Brumaire,  when 
victory  crowned  the  victor,  and  France,  emerging 
from  chaos,  raised  aloft  before  astounded  Europe  her 
talisman  of  triumph — Bonaparte,  First  Consul!  So 
over  the  Alps  to  Montebello  and  Marengo,  and  on, 
ever  on,  till  the  2nd  of  December,  1804,  when  the  son 
of  the  Gascony  dyer,  become  Marshal  of  France  and 
Duke  of  Montebello,  advanced  with  the  Imperial  pro- 
cession into  Notre  Dame  and  heard  the  white-robed 
Pius  VII  exclaim,  "  Send  down,  O  Lord,  the  treasures 
of  thy  grace  upon  thy  servant  Napoleon,  whom,  in 


THE  DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO         149 

spite  of  our  unworthiness,  we  consecrate  this  day  as 
Emperor,  in  thy  name!  " 

And  now,  in  the  house  at  Ebersdorf,  the  Marshal 
Duke  of  Montebello  lay  dying — dying  when  France 
had  need  of  him ! 

"  Marbot,"  said  the  Marshal,  "  is  the  army  getting 
across  in  safety  to  Lobau?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  aide-de-camp. 

"  Oh !  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  and  here  I  am, 
useless!  My  poor  grenadiers — how  they  fought  at 
Essling!  What  a  slaughter!  " 

And  the  Marshal  groaned.  The  aide-de-camp  came 
up  to  the  bed  and  straightened  the  pillow. 

"  Marbot,"  said  the  Marshal,  "  I  must  get  out  of  this. 
Now  I  want  you  to  write  to  Mesler.  I  have  heard  that 
he  made  an  artificial  leg  for  Count  Palfy  and  that  the 
Count  can  walk  and  ride  as  well  as  ever.  Ask  Mesler 
to  come  and  measure  me  for  a  leg." 

But  the  Marshal  Duke  of  Montebello  was  to  walk 
and  ride  no  more.  In  a  short  time  a  raging  fever 
set  in,  the  wounded  man  became  delirious  and 
tossed  upon  his  rough  bed.  "Bring  up  the  guns!" 
he  cried.  "  Where  are  the  guns?  And  Massena,  how 
long  will  he  hold  Aspern?" 

Then  the  surgeons  came  and  held  a  consultation. 

"Well?"  cried  the  Marshal,  "am  I  going  to 
recover?  Are  you  going  to  save  me?  " 

"Alas!  I  fear  not,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  an- 
swered Dr.  Yvan,  and  the  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

The  Marshal  tossed  wildly.  "What!"  he  cried, 
"  not  save  a  Marshal  of  France  and  a  Duke  of  Monte- 
bello! Then  the  Emperor  shall  hang  you!  " 

The  fever  grew,  and  the  Marshal  became  more 
delirious,  thinking  all  the  while  that  he  was  on  the  field 


ISO  THE  GRENADIER 

of  battle,  holding  the  Austrians  in  check  at  Aspern- 
Essling. 

Whenever  he  could,  Pierre  came  to  the  house  in 
Ebersdorf;  he  questioned  the  sentinels;  he  hung  about 
the  door,  endeavoring  to  obtain  news ;  he  looked  up  at 
the  windows  of  the  room  where  the  Marshal  lay — those 
sad  windows  with  green  shutters.  Must  Ajax  die 
now — now,  when  they  all  needed  him  so  much — now, 
when  he  needed  him  so  much — now,  when  justice  was 
to  be  done  in  Paris?  He  heard  muskets,  presenting 
arms;  turning,  he  saw  Napoleon  and  Prince  Berthier 
advancing  rapidly  toward  the  house.  They  were  on 
foot.  Although  it  was  May,  the  weather  was  cool, 
and  the  Emperor  wore  his  gray  greatcoat  buttoned, 
concealing  his  uniform.  His  gloves  were  white  and 
his  face  was  equally  colorless,  but  his  eyes  gleamed 
like  meteors.  Pierre  saluted.  The  Emperor  raised 
his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  entered  the  house,  and  Ber- 
thier, glittering  gold  on  every  seam,  followed  him. 
Then  Pierre  had  a  thought — a  foolish,  childish,  im- 
probable, impossible  idea — but  the  thought  grew,  and 
became  a  hope,  and  chained  him  there  with  his  gaze 
riveted  on  the  windows  of  the  Marshal's  room.  And 
this  was  the  thought,  that  perhaps  the  Marshal  might 
think  of  him  and  speak  of  him  to  the  Emperor,  and 
so  justice  might  be  done  in  Kaiser-Ebersdorf  instead 
of  Paris. 

Poor  boy! — he  was  only  a  boy — and  this  was  so 
large  in  his  world-horizon;  yet  many  men,  touched  by 
time's  silver  wand,  have  had  hopes  equally  chimerical, 
and  upon  them  have  staked  fame  or  fortune. 

As  Napoleon  advanced  to  the  bed,  the  aide-de-camp 
said  sadly,  "  He  no  longer  recognizes  any  one,  sire." 

"'  Lannes,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  do  you  know  me?" 


THE  DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO         151 

"They  are  coming!"  cried  the  Marshal.  "Bring 
the  guns  to  Essling!  Boudet  must  hold  his  own!  He 
must!  I  say,  he  must!  " 

"  Lannes!  "  cried  the  Emperor,  "  do  you  not  recog- 
nize me?  It  is  Bonaparte!  It  is  your  friend!  " 

"Be  off  with  you!"  shouted  the  Marshal.  "Take 
my  commands  to  Bessieres.  Tell  him  the  Emperor 
has  put  him  under  my  orders!  Tell  him  I  order  him 
to  charge  home!  Do  you  hear!  But  for  me  the  Mar- 
shal Bessieres  would  fiddle  about  all  day !  Why  don't 
you  go?  Obey!  or  the  Emperor  shall  hang  you!" 

So  he  raved  and  tossed,  while  Yvan  and  Marbot 
tried  in  vain  to  soothe  him,  and  the  Emperor  went 
sadly  away.  But  in  the  night  the  fever  weakened  and 
his  delirium  ceased.  "  Ah!  Marbot,"  said  the  Marshal, 
"  you  are  here?  How  kind  you  are,  Marbot."  And 
he  took  his  aide-de-camp's  hand.  "  Marbot,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  when  you  go  back  to  France  you  will  see  my 
wife  and  my  poor  children  and  my  old  father.  Tell 
them  I  thought  always  of  them.  Tell  him  his  son 
died  for  France."  Then  he  rested  his  head  on  the 
aide-de-camp's  shoulder  and  seemed  to  fall  asleep. 
The  room  was  quiet  enough  now,  and  after  an  hour 
there  was  a  low  sigh,  and  that  was  all.  It  was  day- 
break on  the  3  ist  of  May,  1809. 

Not  long  after  the  Emperor  came,  and  the  aide-de- 
camp met  him  at  the  door.  "  Sire,"  said  he,  "  it  is  all 
over.  The  atmosphere  of  the  room  is  already  infected. 
I  advise  Your  Majesty  not  to  enter."  But  the  Em- 
peror brushed  him  aside,  and,  entering,  he  went  up  to 
the  bed  and  embraced  the  dead  body.  And  while  the 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes  he  said,  "  What  a  loss  for 
France  and  for  me!  " 

Then  the  Prince  of  Neufchatel  came  and  gently  tried 


152  THE  GRENADIER 

to  draw  the  Emperor  away,  but  the  Emperor  waved 
him  aside.  He  remained  for  an  hour,  and  at  last  when 
the  Prince  of  Neufchatel  said,  "  Sire,  General  Bertrand 
and  the  engineer  officers  are  waiting  for  you — you 
have  yourself  fixed  the  time,"  the  Emperor  rose  and 
passed  out  into  the  open  air. 

It  was  soon  known  throughout  the  army  that 
"  Ajax  "  was  no  more.  Then  the  grenadiers  came  and 
stood  outside  that  doorway — old,  grizzled  veterans 
who  in  Italy  and  Egypt  and  Germany  and  Poland  and 
Austria  had  followed  the  plume  of  him  who  lay  within. 
And  they  stood  outside  that  doorway  and  cried.  The 
tears  streaked  their  weatherbeaten  faces,  and,  rolling 
down,  were  lost  in  their  rough  mustaches  and  beards. 
And  among  those  weeping  veterans  were  Andre  Mar- 
ceau  and  Frangois  Legrand  and  Gustave  Lebon. 
They  wept  for  the  loss  to  France  and  to  themselves,  for 
they  had  marched  behind  him.  There  was  also 
another  who  stood  there  and  wept,  who  wept  for  the 
loss  to  France,  and  who  thought  of  the  mission  to 
Tudela  and  of  the  midnight  talk  on  the  embankment 
before  Essling,  and  wept  for  the  loss  to  himself. 

House  of  Kaiser-Ebersdorf,  we  do  not  know  your 
past,  what  Austrian  peasants  have  been  born,  or  mar- 
ried, or  have  died  within  your  walls.  Near  you  are 
palaces  and  churches,  buildings  which  surpass  you  in 
architectural  beauty,  in  decoration  and  in  embellish- 
ment; but  from  this  day,  May  3ist,  1809,  you  out- 
live them  all;  for  History,  recording  the  deeds  of 
heroes,  stamps  you  with  the  seal  of  fame,  when  before 
your  doors  she  sees  the  weeping  grenadiers,  and  within 
your  humble  walls  the  mutilated  corpse — all  that  was 
mortal  of  that  sturdy  Lannes,  that  brave  "  Ajax,"  that 
Marshal  of  France  who  was  once  a  grenadier! 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  DANUBE 

Attempt  the  end,  and  never  stand  to  doubt, 
Nothing's  so  hard  but  search  will  find  it  out 

— HERRICK,  Seeke  and  Finde. 

IT  was  now  the  month  of  June,  1809,  and  this  is  how 
the  Emperor  of  the  French  and  the  Archduke  Charles 
of  Austria  passed  it.  He,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
had  stood  before  Napoleon  and  had  not  been  defeated, 
and  for  some  days  he  enjoyed  this  unwonted  sensation 
and  received  congratulations  upon  his  victory.  Since 
he  was  so  satisfied  with  the  battle  of  Aspern-Essling, 
it  would  seem  natural  that  he  should  endeavor 
to  use  all  his  resources  to  make  the  coming  conflict 
even  more  disastrous  to  the  French — to  construct 
works  which  should  render  Wagram  and  Neusiedel 
unassailable,  to  call  Kollowrath's  corps  from  Lintz  to 
Wagram,  and  Archduke  John  from  Presburg,  and 
Archduke  Ferdinand  from  Poland.  This  would  have 
added  50,000  men  to  his  forces,  and  if  the  French, 
crossing  from  Lobau,  had  found  Wagram  and  Neu- 
siedel impregnable,  defended  by  80,000  men,  and 
120,000  ready  to  attack  them  in  flank — what  then? 
This  the  Archduke  Charles  of  Austria  might  have 
done.  This  he  did  not  do.  Archduke  Charles  of 
Austria,  you  are  a  brave  soldier,  but  your  name  is 
not  enrolled  with  Conde,  Turenne,  Marlborough,  or 


154  THE  GRENADIER 

Prince   Eugene,   much  less   with   Caesar,   Frederick, 
Hannibal,  and  Napoleon. 

The  French  Emperor  was  busy.  He  had  materials 
for  building  bridges  prepared  everywhere.  Vienna 
was  full  of  timber.  He  ordered  it  to  Ebersdorf,  and 
employed  Vienna  workmen,  paying  them  with  Aus- 
trian paper  money  seized  in  the  Imperial  coffers.  He 
ordered  all  the  ready-trained  conscripts  in  France  to 
be  put  eii  route  for  Strassburg;  he  ordered  Prince 
Eugene  and  General  Macdonald  to  come  from  Italy; 
he  determined  to  connect  Lobau  \vith  the  right  bank 
by  a  bridge  on  piles,  for  the  bridge  of  boats  had  again 
been  broken,  and  he  employed  in  this  work  all  the 
engineer  soldiers  and  carpenters.  Sixty  wooden  piles 
were  placed  in  the  river,  and  the  bridge,  laid  upon 
them,  was  above  the  highest  flood-mark  and  furnished 
a  broad  way  for  cavalry  and  artillery.  The  old  bridge 
of  boats  below  was  strengthened  and  served  for  the 
infantry,  so  that  all  arms  could  pass  at  once.  A  great 
weir  was  made  at  the  sides  of  the  bridge,  planted 
obliquely  in  the  river,  and  seamen  of  the  guard  in 
boats,  moving  about  above  the  weir,  hooked  all  float- 
ing masses  and  drew  them  to  the  shore.  He  built 
also  a  vast  tete-de-pont  in  the  island  of  Lobau  to 
defend  the  island  and  bridge  in  case  of  retreat.  Over 
the  marshy  parts  of  the  island  he  had  causeways  raised 
so  that  the  troops  could  manoeuvre  in  any  weather. 
He  built  a  powder  magazine  on  the  island,  erected 
ovens,  laid  in  stores  of  flour,  collected  cattle  from  Hun- 
gary, and  wine  from  the  convents  on  the  Danube  and 
in  Vienna.  He  made  roads  through  the  island  of 
Lobau  and  lighted  them  at  night  with  lamps.  He 
gave  a  play  to  the  Imperial  Guard  in  the  theatre  at 


THE  DANUBE  155 

Schonbrunn  and  invited  the  ladies  of  Vienna.  And 
every  week  the  Imperial  auditors  brought  the  reports 
from  the  ministers  in  Paris,  and  he  went  over  their 
papers,  and  he  sent  orders  to  his  armies  in  Spain  and 
France  and  Holland,  and  he  wrote  to  his  wife,  and  he 
protected  his  lines  of  communication,  and  he  watched 
his  foe,  and  his  flanks,  and  his  rear,  and  every  morn- 
ing he  galloped  from  Schonbrunn  to  Lobau  and  went 
about  the  island,  over  the  bridges  and  under  the 
bridges,  visited  the  wounded,  examined  the  ovens, 
tasted  the  soldiers'  wine,  watched  the  carpenters,  in- 
spected the  tete-de-pont,  climbed  his  pine-tree  and 
surveyed  all  the  operations,  came  down  and  hurried 
on  the  works,  and  every  evening  he  galloped  back  to 
Schonbrunn.  Yes,  the  French  .Emperor  was  busy! 
And  the  H5th  were  busy,  too,  drilling  and  working  on 
the  fortifications,  and  during  the  month  they  had  two 
additions  to  their  number,  one  of  whom  brought  them 
no  credit  and  remained  only  a  short  time  with  them, 
but  the  other  brought  them  honor  and  remained  with 
them  always.  This  is  the  way  it  was.  One  morning 
the  Emperor  received  news  that  an  Austrian  spy  was 
in  the  island  of  Lobau.  His  Majesty  came  at  a 
gallop  from  Schonbrunn,  ordered  all  the  works 
stopped,  and  every  man  on  the  island — soldiers,  offi- 
cers, butchers,  bakers,  canteen-men,  and  pontoniers — 
to  be  drawn  up  on  parade — thirty  thousand  of  them  in 
all.  Then  the  Emperor  said,  "  A  spy  has  come  among 
us.  Every  man  look  at  his  neighbor  to  left  and  to 
right."  There  was  silence  while  every  man  did  as  he 
was  told.  Pierre  looked  to  his  right,  and  there  was 
Andre  Marceau  looking  at  him — good!  Then  he 
looked  to  his  left — why!  this  was  not  Illar!  This  was 


156  THE  GRENADIER 

a  strange  fellow  with  an  ugly  eye,  and  there  was  Illar 
further  on  and  looking  surprised  too!  So  Pierre  and 
Illar  cried  out,  "  Here  is  a  man  we  don't  know ! " 
He  was  arrested  quickly  enough  after  that,  and  a  lovely 
spy  he  proved,  for  he  was  a  Frenchman  who  had 
gambled  away  his  property  and  gone  to  Austria  to 
escape  his  creditors,  and  there  offered  himself  as  a  spy. 
He  used  to  come  over  at  night  in  a  boat  and  work 
among  the  French  soldiers  during  the  day,  and  make 
sketches  of  their  works,  and  then  go  by  night  to  the 
Austrians.  He  wept  a  good  deal  when  he  found  him- 
self caught,  something  after  the  fashion  of  Sinon  before 
Troy,  and  they  were  thinking  a  little  of  pardoning  him, 
when  he  offered  obligingly  to  go  over  and  spy  on  the 
Austrians  and  come  back  and  tell  the  French.  After 
that  the  Emperor  concluded  that  he  would  hardly  be 
a  valuable  addition  to  the  Grand  Army  and  had  him 
shot,  and  every  one  was  satisfied.  So  much  for  the 
one  who  brought  no  credit  and  left  suddenly.  Now 
for  the  one  who  brought  honor  and  remained  always. 
Pierre  was  finishing  his  supper  one  night,  when,  by 
the  light  of  the  fire,  he  saw  a  dog.  He  was  an  old 
dog,  his  ear  was  cut,  he  was  dirty  and  ugly,  and  he  had 
only  the  stump  of  a  tail.  He  looked  at  Pierre  and 
wagged  the  stump,  and  Pierre  said  "  Good  dog,"  and 
gave  him  some  bread  and  a  little  bone.  And  after 
that  he  stayed  always  with  the  H5th  and  followed  the 
flag,  for  he  remained  faithful  to  a  corps  as  long  as 
he  was  well  treated.  He  had  been  with  the  St.  Sulpice 
cuirassiers  before,  but  a  colonel  of  that  regiment  had 
struck  him  with  the  flat  of  his  sabre,  and  that  was 
enough  for  him.  His  name  was  Corps-de-garde,  he 
had  received  a  bayonet  thrust  at  Marengo,  and  had 


THE  DANUBE  157 

had  a  paw  broken  by  a  shot  at  Austerlitz,  and  he  was 
the  "  bravest  dog  of  the  Empire!  " 

So  passed  the  month  of  June,  and  by  the  beginning 
of  July  all  was  ready  and  the  French  army,  150,000 
strong,  was  massed  in  the  island  of  Lobau.  Colonel 
Sainte-Croix  was  sent  over  and  captured  Enzersdorf, 
the  carefully  prepared  bridges  were  swung  into  place 
across  the  small  arm  of  the  river,  and  during  the  night, 
while  the  rain  fell,  the  thunder  crashed,  and  the  light- 
ning gleamed  in  bright  flashes,  the  French  army — 
artillery,  cavalry,  and  infantry — went  steadily  over 
them — tramp!  tramp!  tramp! 

The  sun  rose  brightly  on  the  morning  of  the  6th  of 
July,  and  there  on  the  plain  of  the  Marchfeld  was  the 
great  host,  150,000  men  and  600  guns.  The  pennons 
fluttered,  the  arms  gleamed,  the  heavy  artillery  came 
up  with  rumbling  wheels  and  clanking  harness,  the 
orderly  officers  pranced  in  all  directions,  the  gold- 
embroidered  hussars  galloped  into  position,  the  crested 
and  shining-cuirassed  cavalry  advanced  proudly  into 
the  plain,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  drums  beat,  and 
the  bands  played  the  air  they  all  knew  well: 

On  va  leur  percer  le  flanc, 

Ran,  ran,  ran,  rantanplan,  tirelire, 

Rantanplan  tirelire  en  plan, 

On  va  leur  percer  le  flanc, 

Que  nous  allons  rire! 

Ran,  tan,  plan,  tirelire, 

Que  nous  allons  rire! 

On  a  gently  sloping  eminence  that  overlooked  the 
Marchfeld  stood  the  Emperor  surrounded  by  his  Mar- 
shals, and  near-by  was  Roustan,  the  Imperial  Mame- 


158  THE  GRENADIER 

luke,  holding  the  white  Euphrates.  And  His  Majesty 
looked  over  his  great  army,  and  over  the  rolling 
Danube  with  its  island  of  Lobau  bristling  with  forti- 
fications. And  then  he  looked  toward  Aspern-Essling 
and  Deutsch-Wagram  where  stretched  the  long  lines 
of  the  army  of  the  Archduke  Charles,  and,  as  he 
mounted  his  horse,  he  softly  hummed: 

Malbrouck  s'en  va-t'en  guerre. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
WAGRAM 

Battle's  magnificently  stern  array! 

—BYRON,  Childe  Harold. 

THE  French  army  was  drawn  up  in  three  lines.  On  the 
left,  Massena  with  the  Boudet,  Molitor,  Legrand,  and 
Carra  St.  Cyr  divisions;  in  the  centre,  Bernadotte  with 
the  Saxons  and  the  divisions  of  Oudinot;  on  the  right, 
Davout  with  the  divisions  of  Friant,  Gudin,  and 
Morand.  In  the  second  line,  the  Viceroy,  Prince 
Eugene,  the  divisions  of  Marmont  and  six  regiments 
of  foot-guards  in  reserve.  In  the  third  line,  four  divi- 
sions of  light  horse,  three  of  dragoons,  three  of  cuiras- 
siers, the  cavalry  of  the  Saxons  and  the  cavalry  of  the 
Guard.  Opposite  the  French  lines  from  Neusiedel  to 
Wagram,  and  continuing  in  a  semicircle  from  Gerars- 
dorf  to  the  Danube,  stretched  the  Austrian  army.  On 
its  right,  the  corps  of  Klenau  and  the  Prince  de  Reuss ; 
in  its  centre  Bellegarde  and  the  Archduke  Charles ;  on 
its  left,  Rosenberg  and  Hohenzollern,  with  Nord- 
mann's  advance-guard.  Over  the  corn-fields  of  the 
Marchfeld  shone  the  summer  sun  of  the  6th  of  July, 
and,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  from  distant  Neusiedel 
— the  village  of  the  Square  Tower — extending  in  great 
curves  by  Aderklaa,  Wagram,  Gerarsdorf,  and  Aspern- 
Essling,  were  floating  banners,  shining  helmets,  flut- 
tering pennons,  uniforms  white,  blue,  and  scarlet,  crest 


160  THE  GRENADIER 

on  crest  of  tossing  plumes,  line  on  line  of  flashing 
sabres,  row  on  row  of  gleaming  bayonets,  league  on 
league  of  black-mouthed  guns!  All  the  ladies  of 
Vienna  had  mounted  to  the  roofs  and  towers  of  the  city 
to  witness  the  spectacle,  and  they  had  seen  many  bril- 
liant dramas  in  the  Hofburg  and  at  Schonbrunn,  but 
never  one  like  this.  Imperial  France  and  Imperial 
Austria  battling  d  corps  perdu — face  to  face!  While 
high  above  Deutsch-Wagram,  on  a  snow-white  cloud 
gilded  by  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  stood 
Victory,  holding  in  her  uplifted  hand  a  laurel-wreath — 
waiting  to  crown  the  victor! 

The  first  gun  was  fired,  the  curtain  was  up,  and  the 
great  Imperial  drama  had  begun! 

The  Austrians  began  the  attack  on  Aderklaa,  while 
Prince  Rosenberg,  descending  with  the  left  wing  from 
the  heights  of  Neusiedel,  advanced  against  Davout  at 
Grosshofen  and  Glinzendorf,  and  soon  the  artillery  fire 
was  general  all  along  the  lines.  The  Emperor  came 
up  to  his  threatened  right  wing  with  Nansouty's  cuir- 
assiers and  some  batteries  of  light  artillery,  which,  tak- 
ing the  Austrians  in  the  flank,  compelled  them  to  re- 
cross  the  Russbach  and  fall  back  toward  Neusiedel. 
Then  the  Austrian  cavalry  charged  the  French  centre 
and  drove  back  Bernadotte  and  the  Saxons  in  confu- 
sion. And  Bernadotte,  galloping  back  into  the  plain 
to  head  off  his  men  and  restore  order,  met  the  Em- 
peror, who  had  hastened  up  from  the  right  wing.  The 
Emperor  had  learned  of  Bernadotte's  remark  after  the 
fight  at  Aspern-Essling,  when  the  Marshal  Prince  of 
Ponte  Corvo  had  declared  that  if  he  were  commanding 
the  French  army  he  would,  by  a  scientific  manoeuvre, 
have  forced  the  Archduke  Charles  of  Austria  to  sur- 


WAGRAM  161 

render.  When,  then,  in  hot  pursuit  of  his  flying 
troops,  he  encountered  the  Emperor,  His  Majesty 
remarked  coldly,  "  Is  that  your  scientific  manoeuvre 
by  which  you  were  going  to  make  the  Archduke  lay 
down  his  arms?"  Bernadotte  attempted  to  reply,  but 
the  Emperor  continued,  "  I  remove  you,  sir,  from  the 
command  of  the  army  corps  which  you  handle  so 
badly.  Withdraw  at  once.  A  bungler  like  you  is  no 
good  to  me."  Then,  riding  among  the  Saxons,  Napo- 
leon restored  order  and  sent  them  against  the  Austrian 
line. 

Meanwhile  the  Austrians  were  pushing  forward  their 
right  wing  against  the  Boudet  division,  hoping  to 
break  the  French  left  and  reach  the  island  of  Lobau 
and  the  bridges  over  the  Danube.  The  Austrian  cav- 
alry charged,  a  mass  of  shouting,  swearing,  plumed, 
white-coated,  galloping  horsemen.  On  they  came, 
plunging  and  rearing,  and  Pierre  thought  he  was  in  a 
whirlwind.  He  fired  as  fast  as  he  could,  jumped  aside 
as  an  Austrian  trooper's  horse  came  by,  stumbled  and 
fell  into  a  low  ditch  that  ran  transversely  toward  the 
Danube.  There  was  a  little  water  in  the  ditch,  and 
also  a  part  of  a  broken  wagon-wheel,  which  he  struck 
as  he  fell.  He  lay  there  and  saw  the  Austrian  cavalry 
pass  over  him — a  cloud  of  legs,  boots,  spurs  and  scab- 
bards, horses'  tails  and  horses'  bellies.  In  spite  of  all 
their  efforts  the  Boudet  division  were  driven  back,  and, 
through  their  glasses,  the  members  of  the  Imperial 
staff  could  see  the  ladies  of  Vienna,  on  the  housetops 
of  the  city,  waving  their  handkerchiefs  in  triumph  as 
the  Austrian  right  wing  advanced. 

Pierre  climbed  slowly  out  of  the  ditch  and  looked 
around  him.  The  Austrian  cavalry  were  wheeling 
n 


162  THE  GRENADIER 

about  on  the  plain,  preparing  to  charge  the  French  left 
wing  again,  while  the  batteries,  which  the  Emperor's 
forethought  had  placed  about  the  island  of  Lobau,  had 
opened  fire  and  were  raking  the  Austrian  ranks.  As 
he  stood  for  a  moment  uncertain  in  what  manner  to 
rejoin  the  H5th,  there  came  bounding  through  the 
long  grass  a  dirty,  bloody  dog  that  jumped  with  joy 
when  he  saw  Pierre,  and  barked,  and  started  to  run, 
and  came  back,  and  whined,  and  stood  impatient. 
"  Go  on,  Corps-de-garde,  I'll  follow  you,"  said  Pierre. 
Corps-de-garde  gave  a  joyous  yelp  and  started  over 
the  Marchfeld  toward  Essling.  But,  before  he  had 
gone  far,  he  ran  in  among  the  trampled  corn,  and 
Pierre  heard  him  barking  loudly.  Pierre  hurried  after 
him,  and  there  on  his  back  lay  Colonel  Hulot,  colonel 
of  the  H5th,  with  a  sabre-cut  across  his  forehead, 
bleeding,  but  alive.  Corps-de-garde  was  snuffing  him 
and  wagging  his  stump  of  a  tail.  With  his  handker- 
chief, which  he  found  was  wet  from  the  water  in  the 
ditch,  Pierre  wiped  the  colonel's  face,  and  tied  the 
bloody  rag  about  his  head,  while  Corps-de-garde 
looked  on  approvingly.  He  had  dropped  his  gun  on 
the  ground,  and  he  now  raised  the  wounded  man  in 
his  arms  and  got  him  partly  on  his  shoulder,  and, 
staggering  at  first,  for  the  colonel  was  a  heavy  load, 
he  started  toward  the  French  lines,  intending  to  get 
across  the  plain  as  best  he  might  and,  if  there  were 
no  other  way,  to  go  again  into  the  ditch.  Then  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  by  turning  to  the  right 
and  going  to  the  river  he  could  follow  it  until  he 
reached  the  island  of  Lobau,  while  the  corn,  in  that 
direction  not  much  trampled,  and  the  bushes 
would  screen  him  largely  from  the  plain.  So  he 


WAGRAM  163 

turned  toward  the  river,  while  Corps-de-garde,  wearing 
an  air  of  importance,  trotted  before  him.  The  ground 
was  rough,  and  twice  Pierre  was  compelled  to  set 
down  the  wounded  man.  He  hated  to  do  it,  for  the 
colonel  groaned  each  time,  but  there  was  no  other 
way.  Each  time,  however,  he  raised  him  firmly  again, 
and  the  second  time  he  got  him  well  up  on  his 
shoulder,  and  on  they  went. 

The  guns  on  the  fortifications  at  Lobau  were  going 
in  earnest  now,  and  making  such  a  racket  that  Pierre's 
head  buzzed,  when,  all  at  once,  the  corn  before  him 
on  the  left  parted,  and  he  saw  an  Austrian  trooper, 
sabre  in  hand.  "  Surrender!  "  said  the  Austrian.  But 
that  was  all  he  said,  for,  before  Pierre  could  set  down 
his  burden  and  draw  his  short  sword — since  he  had  left 
his  gun  where  he  had  found  the  colonel — there  was 
a  growl,  a  bound,  and  a  spring,  and  Corps-de-garde 
had  fastened  his  teeth  in  the  trooper's  throat,  and 
shaking  himself  violently,  was  tearing  out  the  Aus- 
trian's windpipe.  The  trooper  threw  up  his  arms  and 
fell,  but  Corps-de-garde  never  let  go  his  hold  until  the 
Austrian  lay  still  and  mangled.  And  so,  while  the 
guns  of  Lobau  thundered  over  them,  and  the  Austrian 
cavalry  charged  again  upon  the  French  left,  and  the 
Viennese  waved  their  handkerchiefs  in  premature  re- 
joicing, Pierre,  carrying  his  wounded  colonel,  toiled 
painfully  along  the  bank  of  the  Danube,  while  before 
him  marched  the  ever-alert  Corps-de-garde,  the 
"  bravest  dog  of  the  Empire!  "  At  last  he  reached  the 
first  bridge  to  the  Island  of  Lobau,  and  placed  Colonel 
Hulot  in  the  hands  of  the  army  surgeons. 

The  battle  was  raging  furiously  at  Aderklaa,  now, 
where  the  Austrians,  encouraged  by  the  repulse  of 


164  THE  GRENADIER 

Bernadotte,  were  striving  to  break  the  French  lines, 
and  had  already  driven  back  slowly  Massena's  18,000 
men  by  sending  against  them  the  corps  of  Klenau, 
Kollowrath,  and  Lichtenstein,  50,000  strong. 

The  Marshal  Massena,  the  "  Enfant  cheri  de  la 
victoire,"  injured  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  commanded 
from  an  open  four-horse  carriage  in  which  he  lay  ban- 
daged, and  upon  which  the  Austrians,  imagining  that 
it  contained  some  person  of  importance,  poured  their 
fire,  until  the  ground  about  the  Marshal's  carriage  was 
covered  with  the  wounded  and  the  dead.  The  Carra 
St.  Cyr  division,  driven  back  from  Aderklaa,  threw 
Massena's  troops  into  some  confusion,  but  the  Em- 
peror, coming  up  at  that  moment,  got  into  the  Mar- 
shal's carriage,  and  His  Majesty's  presence  at  once 
restored  order.  And  now  through  Aderklaa  the 
Aspre  grenadiers  were  advancing  victoriously,  led  by 
the  Archduke  Charles.  The  Emperor  looked  at  them 
through  his  glass  and  went  on  quietly  talking  to  Mas- 
sena and  outlining  the  manoeuvres  he  desired  him  to 
execute.  He  ordered  the  Marshal  Duke  of  Rivoli, 
with  the  Molitor  and  Legrand  divisions  formed  in  close 
columns,  to  wheel  to  the  right  and  advance  to  the 
Danube  to  the  aid  of  Boudet,  already  hard  pressed  by 
the  Austrian  cavalry.  Massena  drove  off  to  carry  out 
these  orders,  while  the  Emperor  mounted  his  horse 
and  dispatched  an  aide-de-camp  for  General  Mac- 
donald  and  the  army  of  Italy;  a  second  for  the  fusileers 
and  mounted  grenadiers  of  the  Guard ;  a  third  for  the 
cuirassiers  of  General  Nansouty ;  a  fourth  for  Lauriston 
with  sixty  guns  from  the  Guard ;  a  fifth  for  Drouot  with 
forty  guns  from  the  French  and  Bavarian  artillery. 
For  it  was  His  Majesty's  intention  to  shake  the  Aus- 


WAGRAM  165 

trian  centre  with  the  fire  of  a  hundred  guns,  and  then 
to  pierce  it  with  the  infantry  of  Macdonald  and  the 
cavalry  of  Nansouty. 

The  right  wing  of  the  French  was  driving  back  the 
left  wing  of  the  Austrians;  the  right  wing  of  the  Aus- 
trians  was  driving  back  the  left  wing  of  the  French, 
and  about  the  ground  quitted  by  Massena,  slowly  up 
and  down  before  the  line  of  the  Carra  St.  Cyr  division, 
waiting  for  the  artillery  he  had  ordered,  rode  the 
Emperor  on  the  white  Euphrates,  while  behind  him  on 
a  coal-black  stallion  came  the  aide-de-camp  Savary. 

The  Austrian  cannon  were  firing  as  fast  as  musketry 
now,  and  the  white  Euphrates,  with  his  neck  arched 
and  his  red  nostrils  expanded,  quivered  a  little  at  each 
detonation,  and  snorted,  and  shook  the  foam  from  his 
bits.  Let  us  not  forget  them,  those  sturdy  white 
Arabians — Marengo,  AH,  Bishop,  Soliman,  Euphrates 
— that  upon  so  many  battlefields  bore,  amid  the  shells 
and  cannon-smoke,  the  fate  of  France! 

Thus  they  rode,  and  every  moment  came  from  the 
officers  of  the  Carra  St.  Cyr  division  the  short  words 
of  command,  "Serrez  les  rangs!"  as  many  a  brave 
man  pitched  forward  on  his  face,  struck  by  the  Aus- 
trian balls.  But  no  ball  struck  the  aide-de-camp 
Savary,  no  ball  struck  the  white  Euphrates,  no  ball 
struck  the  green-coated  little  Emperor! 

So  for  an  hour  backward  and  forward  before  the  line 
rode  the  Emperor,  his  eyes  fixed  ever  upon  that  far- 
distant  point  across  the  Marchfeld  where  were  sta- 
tioned his  artillery  reserves,  while  with  his  hand  he 
patted  the  neck  of  his  horse.  There  they  came  at  last, 
making  the  earth  tremble — sixty  guns  belonging  to  the 
Guard,  and  forty  from  the  French  and  Bavarian 


166  THE  GRENADIER 

artillery.  They  were  wheeled  into  line — a  long  dark 
line  of  deep-booming,  roar-fulminating,  death-belching 
mouths — and  then  they  fired,  and  the  Austrian  cannon 
answered  with  a  will,  and  the  most  terrific  cannonade 
of  the  Empire  began  in  multisonous  thunder. 

Firing  continually  upon  the  double  line  of  the  Aus- 
trian centre,  the  French  guns  pierced  it  with  balls  and 
dismounted  the  Austrian  artillery.  But  the  Austrian 
centre  still  stood  firm,  and  then  the  Imperial  tactician 
prepared  his  coup  de  grace  and  ordered  General  Mac- 
donald  and  the  Army  of  Italy  to  charge.  So  into  the 
plain  of  the  Marchfeld,  with  the  Broussier  and  Seras 
divisions  in  single  file,  Lamarque's  divisions  on  the 
wings,  and,  behind  all,  twenty-four  squadrons  of  Nan- 
souty's  cuirassiers,  advances  Macdonald.  Into  them, 
in  front,  and  on  the  left,  and  on  the  right,  the  Aus- 
trians  pour  their  fire.  The  first  ranks  melt  away,  but 
over  their  bodies,  leaving  behind  them  a  long  dark 
trail  of  dead  and  dying,  the  gallant  corps  goes  on. 
And  now  at  full  speed  come  the  horsemen  of  the 
Prince  John  de  Lichtenstein,  swift-galloping,  bent  to 
retrieve  the  fortunes  of  Imperial  Austria.  Macdonald 
meets  them  with  three  lines  of  fire,  and  the  proudly- 
charging  cuirassiers  dash  all  in  vain  against  his  bayo- 
nets. Have  they  not  done  enough,  these  grenadiers 
of  Italy,  as  they  stand  there  far  on  the  Marchfeld 
among  their  heaps  of  dead,  the  horsemen  of  de  Lich- 
tenstein retreating,  and  a  sea  of  fire  all  about  them? 
Ah,  no!  Their  mission  is  yet  unfulfilled.  The  Aus- 
trian centre  still  stands  firm.  While  life  shall  last, 
march  on !  And  so,  over  the  blazing  Marchfeld  and  the 
wrecks  of  the  Austrian  cavalry,  over  the  debris  of  all 
those  brave  soldiers  who  have  perished  there  since 


WAGRAM  167 

morning,  closing  their  rent,  torn,  and  bloody  ranks, 
bearing  above  them  their  eagle,  and  fixing  their  eyes 
on  the  iron  Macdonald,  while  upon  them  from  every 
side  is  poured  a  hail  of  shot  and  shell,  they  go  to  the 
very  heights  of  Deutsch-Wagram,  where,  through  the 
smoke  and  the  flame  they  can  see  the  white  coats  of 
Imperial  Austria.  Shall  they  pause  here?  No!  No! 
The  Austrian  centre  still  stands  firm!  While  life  shall 
last,  march  on ! 

See!  See!  upon  the  right,  beyond  the  towers  of 
Neusiedel  appear  the  fires  of  Davout;  Friant,  Gudin, 
and  Morand  are  driving  back  the  Austrian  left.  And 
on  the  left,  Massena,  with  Boudet,  Legrand,  and  Moli- 
tor,  is  crushing  out  the  Austrian  right.  While  in  the 
centre,  far  in  advance,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Aus- 
trian position,  surrounded  by  the  torn  and  bleeding 
remnants  of  his  regiments,  under  the  tattered  shreds 
of  a  tricolor,  floats  the  white  plume  of  Macdonald. 
The  Emperor  lowered  his  spy-glass,  and  turned  to  the 
Prince  of  Neufchatel,  saying,  "  The  battle  is  won !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  MARSHAL  OF  FRANCE 

Great  is  the  glory,  for  the  strife  is  hard. 

— WORDSWORTH,  To  Hay  don. 

"Tis  o'er!  and  France,  foredoom'd  to  sway 

Where'er  her  flashing  eagle  shone, 
Hears  the  proud  victor  named  that  day 
In  victory's  shout — '  Napoleon! ' ' 

ON  the  following  morning  the  Emperor,  surrounded 
by  his  staff,  rode  over  the  battlefield  to  superintend, 
according  to  his  custom,  the  removal  of  the  wounded. 
Then  he  rode  to  the  bivouac  of  Macdonald's  corps, 
and,  when  he  saw  the  General  Macdonald,  he  held  out 
his  hand  and  said,  "  You  have  behaved  valiantly  and 
have  rendered  me  the  greatest  services.  On  the  battle- 
field of  your  glory,  where  I  owe  you  so  large  a  part 
of  yesterday's  success,  I  make  you  a  Marshal  of 
France." 

"  Sire,"  answered  the  Marshal  Macdonald,  "  since 
you  are  satisfied  with  us,  let  the  rewards  and  recom- 
penses be  apportioned  and  distributed  among  my  army 
corps,  beginning  with  Generals  Lamarque,  Broussier 
and  others,  who  so  ably  seconded  me." 

"  Anything  you  please,"  replied  the  Emperor,  "  I 
have  nothing  to  refuse  you." 

So  it  was.  And  the  Marshal  Berthier,  Prince  of 
Neufchatel,  the  Duke  of  Bassano,  Secretary  of  State, 


A  MARSHAL  OF  FRANCE  169 

the  Marshal  Massena,  the  Viceroy  Prince  Eugene, 
generals,  colonels  and  Imperial  aides-de-camp  came 
and  grasped  the  hands  of  Macdonald  and  embraced 
him.  And  some  of  these  had,  and  would  have,  passed 
coldly  by  the  General  Macdonald,  but  they  threw  their 
arms  about  the  neck  of  Macdonald,  Marshal  of 
France. 

So  the  rewards  were  distributed.  Macdonald  was 
made  Marshal,  Oudinot  was  made  Marshal,  Marmont 
was  made  Marshal,  Massena  was  made  Prince  of  Ess- 
ling,  Berthier  was  made  Prince  of  Wagram,  privates 
became  corporals,  lieutenants  became  captains,  cap- 
tains became  chefs-de-bataillon,  Boudet  rose  in  rank, 
Andre  Marceau  got  the  cross,  hundreds  of  others  got 
this  and  hundreds  of  others  got  that,  and  Pierre — got 
nothing!  Well,  it  was  just  as  the  poor  mother  had 
said,  "The  Pasquins  were  not  lucky." 

And  after  the  summer  had  passed  in  diplomatic  fen- 
cing, the  Treaty  of  Vienna  was  signed,  and,  in  October, 
Napoleon  and  his  army  bade  adieu  to  the  capital  of 
Imperial  Austria  and  took  the  road  to  France. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  STUDY  OF  THE  EMPEROR 

This  hath  been 

Your  faithful  servant;  I  dare  lay  mine  honour 
He  will  remain  so. 

— SHAKESPEARE,  Cymbeline. 

THEY  had  a  triumphal  march  through  Bavaria,  Wiirt- 
emberg  and  the  states  of  the  Rhine  Confederation. 
The  people  in  all  the  little  towns  turned  out,  hung  flags, 
erected  arches  and  gave  them  as  warm  a  welcome  as 
the  French  could  have  done.  And  their  Majesties 
of  Bavaria  and  of  Wurtemberg  could  well  afford  to 
encourage  such  demonstrations,  for  both  had  been 
gainers  by  the  Treaty  of  Vienna  in  territory  and  in 
population.  So  they  reached  Strassburg,  where  the 
Boudet  division  took  the  route  through  Luneville  and 
Nancy.  The  Marshal  Massena  was  with  them,  and 
when  they  reached  Luneville,  about  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  sooner  than  they  were  expected,  all  the 
people  came  out  in  a  hurry  in  somewhat  abbreviated 
costumes.  The  red-faced  sub-prefect  stood  by  the 
door  of  the  Marshal's  carriage  with  his  coat  under  his 
arm,  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  his  feet  in  his  slippers, 
and  his  hat  on  his  head.  He  was  too  busy  to  take  it 
off,  for  he  was  trying  to  get  his  sword  in  place,  fasten 
his  necktie,  and  think  of  his  speech  of  welcome.  Pierre 
laughed  when  he  saw  him  in  this  predicament — it  was 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  EMPEROR       171 

the  first  time  he  had  laughed  for  quite  a  while — but 
the  Marshal  spared  the  industrious  prefect  the  trouble 
of  remembering  his  brilliant  harangue,  by  ordering 
the  postillions  to  drive  on. 

For  some  months  the  Boudet  division  was  stationed 
at  Metz,  where  life  went  slowly  enough.  Not  that 
there  was  not  plenty  to  do — drill  and  guard  duty  and 
work  of  various  kinds — but  they  did  the  same  things 
over  and  over  every  day.  Finally,  on  the  5th  of  Janu- 
ary, the  division  was  ordered  to  Paris  and  went  into 
barracks  there.  It  was  near  the  end  of  the  month  of 
January,  either  the  3oth  or  the  3ist.  The  rain  had 
been  falling  hard  all  day,  and  the  stone-paved  court- 
yard of  the  barrack  was  glistening  and  slippery,  while 
the  gutters  were  running  full  of  water.  Pierre  had 
been  on  guard  duty  for  three  hours,  and  he  had  three 
hours  more.  It  was  not  cheerful  work,  pacing  up  and 
down  that  wet  courtyard,  but  he  had  become  used  to 
things  that  were  not  cheerful.  In  fact,  the  whole 
winter,  gay  enough  for  others,  had  seemed  gloomy  to 
him.  Yet  he  often  reasoned  with  himself  that  it 
should  not  be  so.  If  he  had  failed  to  gain  honor  as  a 
reward  of  his  labors,  no  matter — he  had  done  his  duty 
and  had  fought  for  France. 

One  thing  he  had  tried  to  do  and  that  was  to  send 
cheerful  letters  to  Marie.  He  had  constantly  alluded 
to  the  hope  he  had  that  soon  he  could  pay  a  visit  to 
Grenoble,  if  only  for  a  day  or  two.  But  he  thought 
when  he  wrote  it  that  his  return  would  be  rather  differ- 
ent from  what  he  had  anticipated  when  he  set  out. 
To  go  away  a  simple  private  and  come  back  one! 
Why,  it  was  like  wearing  a  tag  on  your  coat  front — 
"  The  Pasquins  are  not  lucky." 


172  THE  GRENADIER 

So  he  paced  up  and  down  in  the  wet,  his  gun  on 
his  shoulder.  It  was  growing  dark  now,  for  darkness 
comes  early  in  the  January  afternoons,  when  he  saw 
an  officer  wrapped  in  a  dark  blue  cloak  crossing  the 
courtyard  toward  him.  When  the  officer  reached  him, 
Pierre  faced  about  and  presented  arms,  and  then  he 
recognized — Colonel  Hulot. 

"  Is  your  name  Pasquin?"  inquired  the  Colonel. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Pierre. 

"  Well,  beau  garqon,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I've  come 
to  thank  you  for  pulling  me  out  of  a  damned  un- 
pleasant situation  at  Wagram.  You  put  my  props 
under  me  again,  or  I  shouldn't  be  here  to-day." 

"  And  how  did  you  know,  sir,  that  it  was  I  who 
helped  you?  "  said  Pierre. 

"  Aie !  That  I  found  out  from  the  surgeons. 
Michel  knew  you  and  told  me  you  had  brought  me 
in.  I  have  heard  other  things  about  you,  too,  young 
man." 

"  I  hope  they  were  good  things,"  said  Pierre. 

"  Good  things !  Sacre !  They  were  fine  things !  " 
cried  the  Colonel.  "  I  reached  here  only  yesterday. 
That  cursed  wound  of  mine  laid  me  up  and  kept  me 
boxed  like  a  setting  hen.  But  I've  been  talking  to 
Captain  Franqois  Legrand.  You  know  him,  eh?" 
And  the  Colonel  slapped  Pierre  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  I  know  him  well,  sir,"  said  Pierre. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  do! "  cried  the  Colonel,  "  and  he 
knows  you  too.  He  has  told  me  a  few  things.  C'est 
touche.  Young  man,  you've  struck  your  blows  for 
France.  And  you've  saved  my  life,  and  you're  a 
friend  of  mine.  And  Hulot  don't  forget  his  friends. 
General  Boudet  shall  know  of  what  you  did  at  Essling 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  EMPEROR       173 

and  at  Ratisbon.  His  Majesty  shall  know  of  it,  and 
then  you'll  see." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  all  your  interest  in  me,"  said 
Pierre. 

"  Interest!  "  cried  the  Colonel,  "  Don't  you  see  it's 
due  to  you  that  Hulot  isn't  lying  six  feet  deep  in  that 
worm-eaten  Austrian  Empire?  And  if  Hulot's  services 
are  worth  anything  to  France — and  I  rather  fancy  they 
are! — they've  got  to  reward  you  handsomely.  If  they 
give  you  nothing,  they  as  much  as  say,  Well,  Hulot 
is  not  worth  anything  to  us.  Parbleu !  but  I  like  that. 
Hulot  who  fought  at  Marengo  and  chased  the  pot- 
bellied Prussians  at  Jena  and  the  beggarly  Spaniards 
at  Somo  Sierra! — Hulot  worth  nothing!  That's  the 
way  I'll  put  it.  Rather  cleverly  put,  don't  you 
think,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  cleverly  put,"  said  Pierre. 

"  Well,  you  leave  it  to  me,  beau  garqon,  I'll  find 
Boudet  and  fix  it  up,  never  fear."  And  the  Colonel 
threw  his  cloak  about  him  and  tramped  over  the  court- 
yard into  the  barrack. 

Pierre  paced  up  and  down  again,  and  strange  to  say, 
although  the  rain  had  not  stopped,  he  thought  it  was 
a  jolly  good  evening — just  the  evening  for  a  nice  cool 
walk  in  the  courtyard.  And  when  the  guard  was 
changed,  he  was  astonished  that  three  hours  had  passed 
so  soon.  Curious,  wasn't  it?  That  night  General 
Boudet  came  to  the  barrack  and  sent  for  Pierre  and 
asked  him  many  questions.  And  as  they  talked  the 
General  referred  to  Saragossa  and  asked  what  Pierre 
had  done  there.  So  Pierre  related  to  him  the  story  of 
his  mission  to  Tudela  just  as  he  had  told  it  to  the 
Marshal  Lannes.  Then  came  a  surprise,  for  General 


174  THE  GRENADIER 

Boudet  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  case  and  produced  a 
paper  which  he  handed  to  Pierre.  It  was  the  copy  of 
a  letter  from  the  Marshal  Duke  of  Montebello  to  the 
Minister  of  War.  The  letter  was  full  of  matters  per- 
taining to  military  affairs,  but  under  the  Marshal's 
signature  were  these  words,  written  hurriedly:  "Pri- 
vate Pasquin  (ii5th  of  the  Line)  has  explained  satis- 
factorily his  conduct  at  Saragossa."  The  letter  was 
dated  at  Essling  the  22nd  of  May,  1809.  Evidently  it 
had  been  ready  to  send  off,  and  when  the  Marshal 
returned  from  his  midnight  tour  of  inspection,  he  had 
added  the  postscript. 

"  That  was  given  me  this  afternoon  at  the  Ministry 
of  War  that  I  might  look  into  the  matter,"  said  Gen- 
eral Boudet,  "  and  I  think  I  have  done  so." 

And  Pierre  looked  at  the  letter  and  at  General 
Boudet,  and  when  his  eyes  fell  again  on  that  bold 
signature,  Lannes,  and  he  thought  of  the  brave  dead 
Marshal,  who,  amid  all  the  whirl  and  turmoil  at  As- 
pern-Essling,  had  thought  to  put  at  the  end  of  his 
letter  those  few  lines  so  full  of  meaning  for  himself, 
the  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

Two  days  later,  on  the  evening  of  the  ist  of  Feb- 
ruary, the  Grand  Marshal  Duroc,  going  to  the  Em- 
peror's study  to  carry  to  him  the  list  of,  and  particulars 
concerning,  those  soldiers  of  Italy  and  Egypt  who 
were  to  be  among  the  troops  reviewed  by  His  Majesty 
on  the  morrow,  met  General  Boudet  and  Colonel 
Hulot  leaving  the  Emperor's  salon. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  Emperor,  who 
had  gone  to  bed  at  eleven,  woke  up,  rang  for  his 
valet-de-chambre,  and  putting  on  his  dressing-gown, 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  EMPEROR       175 

his  drawers  with  feet,  and  his  slippers,  tied  his  hand- 
kerchief about  his  head,  and  went  into  his  study. 
Then,  turning  up  the  lamp  upon  his  large  writing- 
desk,  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  began  going  over 
his  papers.  It  was  a  common  custom  of  his — for  he 
seldom  slept  more  than  four  hours — to  go  at  two  or 
.three  o'clock  into  his  study  and  work  till  dawn.  The 
Emperor  picked  up  the  list  which  Marshal  Duroc  had 
brought  him  and  read  it  over.  He  often  had  such 
lists  prepared  before  a  review,  containing  the  names  of 
old  veterans  in  any  particular  corps,  their  position  in 
their  company — as  first  rank,  third  from  the  left — also 
any  facts  concerning  their  families.  Then  at  parade 
the  Emperor,  passing  that  company,  would  stop  sud- 
denly with  all  the  air  of  an  impromptu,  and,  glancing 
at  the  man  previously  designated,  exclaim  "  You  here! 
Why!  I  saw  you  at  Aboukir.  And  your  father,  is  he 
well?"  Thus  throughout  the  army  the  conviction 
grew  that  they  were  all  personally  known  to  the  Em- 
peror. It  was  true  that  he  knew  and  remembered  a 
prodigious  number  of  them,  but,  in  the  manner  above 
referred  to,  the  Imperial  actor  gave  them  the  impres- 
sion that  he  knew  them  all. 

So  the  Emperor  read  his  list,  and  when  he  had 
finished,  he  took  a  pen  and  added  a  name — Pierre 
Pasquin — and  under  it  he  drew  a  line.  Then  he  ex- 
amined the  reports  of  his  ministers,  making  notes  on 
the  margins,  or  read  the  returns  on  the  situations  of 
his  armies — to  him  the  most  enjoyable  books  in  his 
library.  He  reckoned  up  his  soldiers  man  by  man, 
company  by  company,  division  by  division;  he  fol- 
lowed them  along  the  roads  of  Europe;  he  learned 
exactly  the  positions  of  all  their  corps,  where  they 


176  THE  GRENADIER 

were  marching,  where  they  were  halting,  when  they 
would  arrive. 

Thus  in  the  silent  hours  he  worked.  And  without 
was  the  dark  facade  of  the  Tuileries  Palace,  the  deep 
dense  gloom  of  the  Tuileries  garden,  the  blackness  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  Paris  wrapped  in  night 
But  in  the  dark  fagade  of  that  Tuileries  Palace  shone 
the  light  from  the  Emperor's  study,  and  the  rays  from 
that  light  in  the  Emperor's  study  kept  watch  over 
it  all. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  CROSS  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 

Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

— SCOTT,  Old  Mortality. 

A  REVIEW-DAY  under  the  Empire!  Would  you  see  it? 
Look  on  Bellange's  canvas  in  the  gallery  at  Versailles, 
or  follow  with  me  now  the  gaily-dressed  Parisians 
wending  their  way  along  the  Quay  of  the  Tuileries 
toward  the  great  archway  of  the  Louvre  that  opens 
upon  the  Race  du  Carrousel.  In  this  bright  Sunday 
sunshine  of  the  2nd  of  February,  1810,  all  Paris  is 
in  the  streets,  and  along  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  and  the 
Rue  St.  Antoine,  converging  from  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde  and  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  come  regiments 
of  infantry,  squadrons  of  cavalry,  loud-rumbling  artil- 
lery trains,  and  all  the  pomp  of  war. 

To  the  clear-toned  blasts  of  blaring  trumpets  and  the 
sounding  strains  of  martial  music,  with  the  clank  of 
arms,  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  the  roll  of  wheels,  and  the 
gleam  of  polished  steel,  they  come — pouring  into  the 
Place  du  Carrousel  and  into  the  great  courtyard 
of  the  Tuileries  Palace  where  Napoleon,  the  world- 
conqueror,  reviews  his  army.  There  are  the  Boudet 
and  Legrand  divisions,  the  St.  Sulpice  cuirassiers,  the 
12 


178  THE  GRENADIER 

divisions  of  Oudinot,  Mortier  and  Carra  St.  Cyr,  and, 
last  of  all,  the  great  Imperial  Guard.  How  proudly 
they  march!  their  breasts  decked  with  the  insignia  of 
their  valor,  their  faces  scarred  with  their  "  quarterings 
of  nobility,"  their  eagle-topped  standards  bearing  the 
record  of  their  glory.  How  proudly  they  march !  For 
them  there  is  no  god  but  Mars,  and  Napoleon  is  his 
prophet. 

What  a  setting  for  the  martial  scene !  The  long  faqade 
of  the  Tuileries,  with  its  massive  dome,  above  which 
floats  the  tricolor,  the  great  palaces  of  the  Louvre  on 
either  hand,  and,  in  the  centre  of  the  vast  open  square, 
the  majestic  Rome-reflecting  monument  of  Austerlitz 
of  Jena  and  of  Friedland,  upon  whose  summit  stand 
the  famous  horses  of  St.  Mark,  brought  by  General 
Bonaparte  from  Italy  to  grace  his  Arch  of  Triumph  on 
the  Place  du  Carrousel. 

Tell  us,  bronze  horses  of  St.  Mark,  you  who  were 
made  by  the  cunning  hand  of  Lysippus  for  the  great 
Alexander,  and,  high  on  the  triumphal  arches  of  this 
world,  have  seen  pass  beneath  your  feet  the  Mace- 
donian phalanx,  the  armies  of  Constantine  with  their 
motto  "  In  hoc  signo  vinces,"  the  legions  of  Rome, 
the  spoils  of  Gaul,  and  laurel-crowned  Caesar — have 
you  yet  seen  a  conqueror  like  this?  But  the  horses  of 
St.  Mark  return  no  answer,  they  are  silent.  All  else 
is  activity.  Aides-de-camp  galloped  in  all  directions, 
while,  under  the  command  of  the  Colonel-General  of 
the  Guard,  the  infantry  regiments  took  up  their  posi- 
tion in  the  palace  courtyard;  the  cavalry  and  artillery 
on  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  As  soon  as  the  various 
corps  were  in  position,  the  flag  and  standard-bearers, 
coming  out  of  the  ranks,  assembled  before  the 


CROSS  OF  LEGION  OF  HONOR       179 

Pavilion  de  1'Horloge,  the  main  entrance  to  the 
Tuileries  Palace,  and,  conducted  by  an  officer,  went 
up  the  staircase  to  the  salon  of  the  Emperor.  There 
the  chamberlain  announced  them,  and,  having  made 
a  trophy  of  the  flags  and  standards,  they  returned  in 
the  same  order,  and  as  they  marched  out  of  the  palace 
doorway,  the  drums  beat,  and  the  officers  saluted  the 
colors.  By  this  time  all  the  palace  windows  were  filled 
with  people — the  court  and  the  corps  diplomatique — 
while  against  the  railings  that  separated  the  courtyard 
from  the  Place  du  Carrousel  was  packed  an  eager, 
show-loving,  glory-worshiping  crowd.  Before  the 
palace  door  stood  Roustan,  the  Mameluke,  holding 
the  white  Euphrates,  while  behind  him,  held  by  ser- 
vants in  the  green  and  gold  livery  of  the  Imperial 
household,  were  a  dozen  other  horses  belonging  to 
members  of  the  Emperor's  staff,  and,  most  conspicuous 
among  them,  the  gorgeously-bedecked  cheval  de 
bataille  of  the  King  of  Naples. 

As  the  clock  of  the  Tuileries  Palace  struck  the  hour 
of  one,  the  noise  of  boot-heels,  spurs  and  trailing 
scabbards  was  heard  upon  the  staircase,  and  a  moment 
later,  wearing  his  green  coat  of  the  mounted  chasseurs, 
his  white  knee-breeches,  and  his  famous  cocked  hat, 
the  Emperor  appeared  in  the  doorway,  while  behind 
him  came  his  staff, 

"  Glittering  in  golden  coats,  like  images; 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May." 

And  instantly  the  drums  rolled,  the  arms  flashed,  the 
banners  waved,  the  people  shouted,  and  the  proud 
Imperial  trumpets  clamored — crash! 


i8o  THE  GRENADIER 

The  Emperor  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  at  a 
gallop  along  the  ranks,  and  after  him  rode  his  staff — 
four  Colonels-General  of  the  Guard;  Duroc,  Grand 
Marshal  of  the  Palace ;  the  Prince  of  Neufchatel,  Vice- 
Constable;  the  Grand  Equerry  Caulaincourt,  the  Min- 
ister of  War,  the  Governor  of  Paris,  and  Joachim 
Murat,  the  King  of  Naples.  A  showy  man,  this  King 
of  Naples,  with  his  stalwart  figure,  large  blue  eyes  and 
long  black  hair,  his  Polish  coat  covered  with  gold, 
his  gilded  belt  holding  the  scabbard  of  his  diamond- 
hilted  sabre,  his  trousers  of  aramanthine  purple  em- 
broidered in  gold,  and  his  hat  with  its  wind-blown 
crest  of  heron's  plumes.  His  war-horse,  too,  no  less 
magnificent,  with  sky-blue  housings  worked  in  gold. 
Hungarian  saddle  and  flashing  stirrups.  And  what 
did  the  veterans  of  the  Grand  Army  think  of  this 
Imperial  popinjay,  Murat,  the  King  of  Naples? 
They  thought  well  of  him,  for  they  had  seen  those 
blue  eyes  burn  with  fire,  that  long  hair  flying  in  the 
wind,  that  Polish  jacket  black  with  powder,  that 
mighty  war-horse  streaked  with  foam,  that  diamond- 
hilted  sabre  red  with  blood.  And,  as  at  Jena,  Eylau, 
Friedland,  they  saw  the  charging  squadrons  pressing 
hard  after  that  heron's  plume,  that  led  them  ever  where 
the  fight  was  fiercest,  that  led  them  ever  on  to  tri- 
umph, they  thought  well  of  him,  for  they  saw  him  as 
he  was — Murat,  the  phenix-knight  of  chivalry,  the 
king  of  cavaliers! 

After  riding  along  the  ranks  at  a  rapid  gallop,  the 
Emperor  returned  to  the  palace  entrance,  dismounted, 
and  began  the  manoeuvres.  An  officer  of  the  Guard, 
who  possessed  a  strong  voice,  stood  near  to  repeat 
his  commands.  The  Emperor  put  the  Boudet  and 


CROSS  OF  LEGION  OF  HONOR       181 

Legrand  divisions  through  the  manual  of  arms,  then, 
taking  the  Legrand  division,  His  Majesty  said  to  the 
commanding  officer,  "  Order  them  to  form  a  square 
by  divisions  as  you  march,  and  do  so  with  the  fewest 
manoeuvres."  So  the  order  was  given :  "  Form  a 
square  on  the  second  division  as  you  are  marching; 
first  division  by  the  left  flank  and  by  right  file;  quick 
time!  third  division  by  the  right  flank  and  by  left  file; 
quick  time!  fourth  division  by  the  left  flank  and  by 
left  file;  quick  time!  second  division,  slow  time!  "  But 
the  Emperor  did  not  like  the  way  it  was  done,  and 
they  had  to  do  it  a  second,  a  third,  and  a  fourth  time. 
Then  His  Majesty  inspected  each  regiment  man  by 
man,  having  all  the  knapsacks  opened  before  him, 
and,  when  he  was  satisfied  that  all  was  right,  the 
Legrand  division  marched  out  into  the  Place  du 
Carrousel. 

The  Boudet  division  now  marched  forward,  and 
were  put  through  the  manoeuvres,  the  knapsacks 
opened,  and  the  regiments  inspected.  Then,  with  his 
staff  following  him,  the  Emperor  walked  down  the 
line  and  stopped  before  the  H5th.  It  was  very  still 
in  the  great  Tuileries  courtyard  now,  filled  as  it  was 
with  row  on  row  of  silent  statues  holding  guns  with 
long  bright  bayonets.  The  Emperor  made  a  sign,  and 
the  Captain  Franqois  Legrand  called  "  Pasquin ! " 
and  Pierre,  whose  heart  thumped  so  loudly  that  he 
thought  it  must  be  heard  by  every  one,  stepped  for- 
ward two  paces  and  presented  arms. 

"  Sergeant  Pasquin,"  said  the  Emperor  (and  he 
placed  special  emphasis  on  the  word  Sergeant),  "  your 
deeds  are  known  to  me.  You  were  the  fourth  across 
the  walls  at  Ratisbon,  you  were  the  first  to  bring  the 


r82  THE  GRENADIER 

boat  across  the  Danube,  you  fought  against  great 
odds  at  Essling,  you  saved  your  colonel  on  the  field 
of  Wagram.  I  now  give  you  the  cross.  You  have 
deserved  it."  As  he  spoke  the  Emperor  detached  the 
Legion  of  Honor  from  his  breast  and  held  it  against 
the  breast  of  the  grenadier,  while  Marshal  Duroc,  who 
was  watching  him  closely,  quickly  pinned  it  there. 

"  Moreover,"  added  His  Majesty,  "  I  appoint  you  to 
the  Guard,"  and  he  passed  on  down  the  line  and 
mounted  his  horse  before  the  Pavilion  de  1'Horloge. 

And  then,  in  the  Tuileries  courtyard,  within  the 
shadow  of  the  Arch  of  Triumph,  Colonel  Hulot 
stooped  and  fastened  a  red  ribbon  about  the  neck  of 
Corps-de-garde.  He  was  only  a  dog,  but  God  made 
him,  and  he  was  the  "  bravest  dog  of  the  Empire." 

The  bands  of  the  regiments  took  their  station  before 
the  Pavilion  de  1'Horloge  and  the  march  past  began. 
But  of  all  that  host,  that  with  flying  banners  and 
resounding  shouts  marched,  to  the  stirring  notes  of 
the  "  Veillons  au  Salut  de  1'Empire,"  past  their  Impe- 
rial War-Lord  and  out  under  the  Arch  of  Triumph 
into  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  none  carried  his  head 
higher,  none  moved  with  lighter  step,  than  the  cross- 
decked  Pierre  Pasquin  of  the  Garde  Imperiale. 

That  evening  after  the  parade  was  over  and  the 
1 1 5th  had  broken  ranks,  Pierre  was  surrounded  by 
his  comrades.  They  all  wanted  to  grasp  his  hand  and 
they  all  wanted  to  slap  him  on  the  back.  "  Parbleu !  " 
cried  Franqois  Legrand,  "  don't  tell  me  I  can't  keep 
a  secret.  I  knew  this  morning  you  were  to  get  some- 
thing." 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  cried  Andre  Marceau,  embracing 
Pierre,  "  to  think  of  it !  A  sergeant ! — the  cross ! — and 
the  Guard!" 


CROSS  OF  LEGION  OF  HONOR       183 

"  None  too  much,"  said  Colonel  Hulot,  elbowing 
his  way  through  the  crowd.  "  He  saved  me — Hulot — 
a  man  that  France  cannot  afford  to  lose.  If  I  had  had 
my  way  he'd  have  been  lieutenant." 

Pierre  thought  the  handshakings  and  embracings 
would  never  end,  but  finally  he  got  away  from  all  the 
crowd  and  walked  alone  to  the  barrack,  and  as  he 
entered  it,  the  sentinel  in  the  doorway  presented  arms. 
Pierre  looked  about  to  see  if  there  were  an  officer 
near.  But  no,  he  was  alone. 

"Is  it  to  me  that  you  are  presenting  arms?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sentinel,  "  we  are  ordered  to  pre- 
sent arms  before  all  those  decorated  with  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor." 

Pierre  went  into  the  barrack,  lit  his  candle,  placed 
it  on  the  table,  took  his  pen  and  paper  and  began  to 
write.  When  he  had  finished  his  letter  it  was  very 
late,  and  he  had  forgotten  his  supper,  but  that  was 
no  matter,  for  the  letter  was  to  Marie,  and  it  was 
beautifully  written,  and  these  were  the  words  with 
which  it  ended — "  It  was  the  finest  day  of  my  life!  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 
MARIE 

In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed; 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above; 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

— SCOTT,  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

THE  little  dining-room  in  the  Cafe  Jodelle  had  never 
presented  so  festive  an  appearance  as  on  the  ist  of 
March,  1810.  Pierre  had  obtained  leave  of  absence 
and  had  come  down  from  Paris  a  few  days  before. 
Leave  of  absence  was  not  so  hard  tc  get  now  since 
there  was  peace,  and  a  fellow  wanted  to  be  married, 
and  beside  the  great  Emperor  himself  was  going  to  be 
married  before  long. 

What  a  welcome  they  had  given  him  at  the  Cafe 
Jodelle!  Henri  could  hardly  believe  that  this  big 
strapping  fellow  with  the  lofty  bearskin  cap  was  the 
boy  of  the  Rue  Montorge  whom  he  had  known  in  the 
past.  And  Marie — this  exceeded  all  she  had  ever 
hoped.  The  cross!  The  rank  of  sergeant!  The  Im- 
perial Guard !  The  brave  soldier  home  again  safe  and 
sound !  It  was  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  yet  true  it 
was,  and  there  he  stood  before  her  eyes.  How  the 
boys  crowded  round  him!  Gaspard  brought  a  lot  of 


MARIE  185 

them  every  day,  and  they  stood  about  with  their  large 
eyes  popping  out  of  their  heads  in  silent  wonder.  And 
the  old  fellows  too — Frederic  Bonneville  and  Philippe 
Courteau — they  all  wanted  to  take  the  cross  in  their 
hands,  and  would  insist  upon  hearing  over  and  over 
again  the  story  of  the  walls  of  Ratisbon,  the  march 
down  the  Danube,  and  the  great  fight  upon  the  plain 
at  Wagram.  But  Pierre  broke  away  from  them  when- 
ever he  could  and  went  to  find  Marie,  and  one  morn- 
ing they  walked  to  the  little  house  in  the  Rue  Mon- 
torge — it  was  Pierre's  house  now,  and  Henri  had  kept 
it  in  good  repair — and  they  sat  for  a  while  in  the  room 
where  the  mere  Pasquin  had  died.  Afterward  they 
walked  to  the  cemetery  and  stood  beside  the  small 
gravestone.  And  then  a  curious  thing  happened, 
for  the  grenadier  of  the  Imperial  Guard  knelt  down 
and  read  the  inscription,  and  then,  leaning  on  the 
gravestone,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  re- 
mained there  a  long  time.  Marie  stood  beside  him, 
crying  softly  to  herself.  And  after  a  while  the  grena- 
dier got  up  and  brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 
Marie  took  his  arm,  and  they  went  homeward.  "  If 
mother  were  here  now,  I  should  be  very,  very  happy," 
said  Pierre  the  grenadier. 

How  gay  the  dining-room  in  the  Cafe  Jodelle  ap- 
peared on  the  evening  of  the  1st  of  March,  with  the 
candles  on  the  table  and  in  the  two  bright  brackets 
on  the  walls!  How  fine  the  table  looked  with  the 
best  white  cloth  and  the  silver  dish  which  once  be- 
longed to  Marie's  mother!  Aunt  Zirelle  had  loaned 
them  a  couple  of  silver  dishes  also,  and  that  made  a 
grand  show.  As  for  the  feast — Henri  had  surpassed 
himself.  There  was  a  puree  of  chestnuts  and  a  maca- 


i86  THE  GRENADIER 

roni  soup,  a  brocket  a  la  Chambord,  beef  garnished  with 
vegetables  and  cauliflowers  au  gratin;  for  entrees,  filets 
of  duck  au  fumet  de  gibier;  mutton  cutlets  a  la  Sou- 
bise,  a  fricassee  a  la  chevalier e;  and  for  entremets  a  jelly 
of  oranges,  gaufres  a  I'allemande  and  coffee  cream 
a  la  frangaise,  also  bottles  of  sealed  wine.  Surely  it 
was  a  festin  pour  le  roi — a  feast  for  a  king. 

What  a  merry  company  they  were !  At  the  head  of 
the  table  sat  Henri,  who  had  put  on  once  more  his  old 
regimentals  of  Italy.  The  coat  was  badly  faded  and 
the  braid  was  worn,  but  the  coat  had  an  imposing  look 
for  all  that  and  seemed  to  say,  "  I  too  have  seen  the 
Austrian  fire!  "  On  Henri's  right  sat  Marie  in  a  pink 
dress — such  a  pretty  dress,  thought  Pierre,  much  pret- 
tier than  the  dresses  he  had  seen  on  the  gay  Parisiennes 
in  the  Tuileries  garden.  And  next  to  Marie  sat  Pierre 
in  his  blue  coat  with  white  lapels,  his  knee-breeches, 
his  vest  and  gaiters  of  white  basine,  and  his  shoes 
with  silver  buckles — the  uniform  of  the  Imperial 
Guard.  Then  came  Gaspard  in  a  new  coat  made  ex- 
pressly for  the  great  occasion,  with  bright  buttons  in 
which  Gaspard  could  see  his  face;  and  then  Jacques  le 
Page.  On  Henri's  left  sat  Philippe  Courteau,  who 
kept  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins — a  great  big  fellow 
who  had  followed  the  tricolor  upon  the  sands  of  Egypt 
and  lost  an  eye  at  St.  Jean  d'Acre.  He  wore  a  black 
patch  over  his  eye,  but  he  was  a  fine-looking  man  in 
spite  of  that.  He  also  had  an  old  coat  with  a  rent 
through  one  arm  made  by  a  Mameluke  sabre  on  the 
plain  at  Cairo,  and  it  too  seemed  to  say,  "  Look  at  me ! 
I  am  better  than  all  your  fine  new  coats,  for  I  have 
been  at  the  front  amid  the  cannon-smoke,  under  the 
eyes  of  the  great  general." 


MARIE  187 

Then  came  old  Frederic  Bonneville,  and  next  to  him 
the  good  dame  Bovard  and  her  stout  husband  Robert 
Bovard,  and  at  the  end  of  the  table  Henri's  sister,  the 
Widow  Zirelle.  A  fascinating  person  was  the  Widow 
Zirelle!  She  had  already  buried  three  husbands  and 
was  now  looking  for  a  fourth.  Her  first  was  Gustave 
Pepin.  He  was  a  round,  fat,  good-natured,  moon- 
faced, little  man  who  kept  a  pie-shop  near  the  Rue 
Montorge.  She  could  never  complain  of  Gustave 
Pepin.  He  was  a  good  husband  and  not  a  bit  jealous. 
Sometimes  on  Sundays  he  put  on  his  best  clothes  and 
took  her  for  excursions  to  Voreppe  or  Buisserade. 
Some  days,  when  he  wanted  to  sit  at  home  and  smoke 
his  pipe,  he  allowed  her  to  go  with  his  good  friend 
Loredan  Devienne.  One  night  he  went  across  the 
river  to  a  spread  at  the  house  of  his  friend  Caboul 
Lorette,  and  coming  back  over  the  bridge,  he  fell  in, 
and  that  was  the  end  of  him.  She  thought  she  would 
cry  her  eyes  out  when  she  heard  of  it;  she  wanted  to 
drown  herself  too;  but  she  rallied  and  married 
Devienne  six  months  afterward.  Dear!  dear!  what  a 
man  Devienne  was  after  all!  What  a  temper  he  had! 
Why!  the  wretch  actually  commanded  her  one  day  to 
pull  off  his  boots.  It  was  as  bad  as  Lauzun  and  the 
Duchess  de  Montpensier.  And  was  he  jealous?  My! 
My!  If  she  as  much  as  smiled  at  any  cavalier  who 
came  into  the  shop,  Devienne  turned  green.  His 
jealousy  finished  him,  though,  and  that  was  a  good 
thing,  for  one  day  she  kissed  her  hand  to  the  young 
Sainte-Perme  and  Devienne  challenged  him  and 
Sainte-Perme  ran  him  through,  and  so  she  was  a 
widow  again.  Then  she  married  old  Zirelle.  He  was 
twenty  years  older  than  she,  and  had  the  gout  so  badly 


188  THE  GRENADIER 

that  he  rarely  left  the  house,  but  sat  all  day  in  a 
high-backed  chair  and  grunted.  Now,  why  did  she 
marry  him?  Why  did  the  Maintenon  marry  Scarron? 
Why  did  la  grande  Mademoiselle  marry  Lauzun? 
Why  do  some  women  do  anything?  They  never  give 
reasons.  People  did  say,  however,  that  he  left  her  a 
house  in  the  Grand  Rue  and  two  thousand  francs  in 
the  bank  when  he  died.  Now  she  was  perfectly  happy, 
for  here  was  stout  Robert  Bovard  on  her  right  with 
whom  she  could  flirt.  And  if  she  enjoyed  anything  it 
was  flirting  with  a  married  man,  and  right  under  his 
wife's  nose  too.  How  she  managed  her  fan!  Even 
La  Pompadour  couldn't  have  beaten  her  at  that 

"  I  thought  grenadiers'  coats  were  all  covered  with 
gold  braid,  Pierre,"  said  Gaspard. 

"  Not  in  the  Guards,"  answered  Pierre.  "  We  have 
plain  coats.  The  Emperor  wears  a  coat  like  this  on 
Sundays  and  at  fetes." 

"  I  would  rather  have  a  coat  like  that  than  all  the 
gold-embroidered  uniforms  of  Murat,"  said  Henri 
Jodelle. 

"  Won't  you  tell  us  again,  Pierre,  what  the  Emperor 
said  when  he  gave  you  the  cross?"  asked  Frederic 
Bonneville. 

So  Pierre  related  once  more  the  scene  in  the  Tuil- 
eries  courtyard. 

"  They  didn't  have  crosses  in  my  day,"  said  Philippe 
Courteau,  "the  Little  Corporal  hadn't  established 
them,  but  they  had  sabres  of  honor.  When  you  come 
to  the  Trois  Dauphins,  Pierre,  I'll  show  you  mine." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it  very  much,"  said  Pierre. 

"  That  was  a  lively  scrimmage  you  had  at  Essling," 
continued  Philippe,  "  but  I'll  bet  it  wasn't  anything  to 


MARIE  189 

the  one  we  had  at  Cairo.  Those  Mamelukes  are  very 
devils  at  riding.  They  used  to  rush  up  and  rear  their 
horses  right  on  our  bayonets  and  sabre  us  if  they 
could,  though  they  might  as  well  have  tried  to  chop 
down  the  pyramids  as  one  of  our  squares  with  the 
Little  Corporal  in  the  middle  of  it." 

"  Robert!  Robert!  Give  me  some  wine,"  said 
dame  Bovard,  who  was  beginning  to  be  annoyed  at 
the  industry  displayed  by  the  stout  Robert  in  helping 
his  fair  neighbor  the  Widow  Zirelle. 

"  Mon  cher  Robert,"  laughed  the  Widow  Zirelle, 
"  will  you  not  give  me  some  gaufres  and  coffee  cream? 
Ah,  merci,  you  are  most  kind,  Robert,  you  are  most 
attentive." 

"Robert!  Robert!  do  you  hear  me?"  demanded 
dame  Bovard,  pulling  his  sleeve.  "  Give  me  some 
wine." 

"  Ah !  How  can  I  serve  two  at  once !  "  cried  Robert, 
as  he  passed  her  the  coffee  cream. 

"  No !  "  cried  dame  Bovard,  "  attend  to  me,  Robert. 
I  want  some  wine.  Do  you  hear? "  And  the  good 
dame  made  her  meaning  more  plain  by  giving  him  a 
sharp  pinch  in  the  arm.  And  so  they  kept  on  until 
stout  Robert  was  soon  muttering  under  his  breath, 
"  Les  femmes  au  diable!  " 

"  Come,  a  song!  a  song! "  cried  Henri  Jodelle,  who 
perceived  that  all  was  not  peace  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table.  "  We'll  begin  with  Frederic,  and  each  shall 
sing  a  song  in  turn." 

"  I  don't  know  any  song,"  said  Frederic. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  cried  Jacques  le  Page.  "  You 
know  the  '  Marquis  de  Carabas.'  That's  a  jolly  song. 


190  THE  GRENADIER 

We'll  all  join  in  the  chorus  and  rap  with  our  knives 
on  the  table.     Begin!  begin!  " 

So  old  Frederic  got  up  and  sang  with  his  gruff 
voice  the  "  Marquis  de  Carabas." 

"  Hear  me,  ye  vassals  all, 
Castellans,  villeins,  great  and  small: 
Through  me,  through  me  alone 
The   King   was   set  upon   his   throne. 

If  he  should  neglect 

All  the  deep  respect 

Which  I  claim,  to  pay, 

Then  the  deuce  I'll  play. 
Chapeau  bas!    Chapeau  has! 
Hail  to  the  Marquis  of  Carabas!  " 

"  Bien!  bien!  Frederic,"  they  cried,  "  another  verse." 

"  That's  all  I  know,"  said  Frederic. 

"  Well,  Philippe,  it  is  your  turn  now,"  said  Henri 
Jodelle. 

"  I  know  only  one  song,"  said  Phillippe,  "  '  le  bon 
roi  Dagobert.' " 

"  And  a  good  song  too,"  cried  Henri. 

Philippe  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table,  and 
rising,  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
roared  out  his  favorite  song: 

"  The  good  King  Dagobert,  so  stout, 
When  fighting,  flung  his  blows  about. 

Good  Saint  Eloi 

Said:    O  mon  roi 

I  fear  they  will 

Your  Highness  kill. 

Then  said  the  king:   They  may,  said  he, 
So  clap  yourself  in  front  of  me." 

"Bravo!  Philippe,"  cried  Henri  Jodelle. 


MARIE  191 

"  The  good  King  Dagobert  the  great, 
When  he  had  tippled,  walked  not  straight. 

Good  Saint  Eloi 

Said:   O  mon  roi, 

Your  footsteps  slide 

From  side  to  side. 

Pooh!    Monsieur,  said  the  King,  said  he, 
When  you  get  drunk  you  walk  like  me." 

"  Tres-bien !  tres-bien !  Philippe,"  they  all  cried. 
Philippe  waved  his  hand  to  them  and  sat  down. 

"And  now,"  cned  Henri  Jodelle,  rising  from  his 
chair,  "  a  toast.  Join  me  all.  Good  luck  and  happi- 
ness to  Marie  and  Pierre." 

Up  they  rose,  and  little  Gaspard  stood  on  his  chair 
from  very  joy,  and  they  held  their  glasses  high,  and 
they  all  cried  together,  "  Good  luck  and  happiness  to 
Marie  and  Pierre!  " 

"  Now,  Pierre,  a  song  from  you,"  said  Henri. 

"  Here!  here!  "  cried  Philippe  Courteau  and  Frede- 
ric Bonneville.  "  You  have  sung  no  song  yet,  Henri. 
You  cannot  pass  yourself  in  that  manner.  It  is  your 
turn  now." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Henri.  "You  have  caught 
me,  have  you?  I  know  no  songs." 

"  Ah,  pere  Henri,"  said  Marie,  "  you  know  the  song 
the  Emperor  sings,  '  si  le  roi  m'eut  donne,  Paris  sa 
grande  ville.' " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  one,"  said  Henri.  "  Well,  you 
shall  have  it"  And  old  Henri  in  his  faded  uniform 
sang  in  his  deep  bass  voice: 

"  If  the  King  had  given  to  me 
Paris  his  great  town. 
And  if  I  were  forced  to  flee 
And  leave  my  love  alone, 


192  THE  GRENADIER 

To  King  Henry  I  would  say: 
'  Take  your  Paris  back,  I  pray; 
Better  I  love  my  love,  O  gay, 
Better  I  love  my  love! '  " 

"Bravo!  bravo!  Henri,"  cried  Philippe  Courteau. 
''That  is  a  good  song,  and  all  the  better  because  the 
Emperor  sings  it.  Now  we  will  have  the  song  from 
Pierre." 

"  What  shall  I  sing?  "  asked  Pierre. 

"  Sing  the  '  Partant  pour  la  Syrie '  of  la  reine  Hor- 
tense,"  said  old  Frederic  Bonneville. 

And  so  Pierre  began: 

"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie, 

Le  jeune  et  beau  Dunois 

Venait  prier  Marie 

De  benir  ses  exploits. 
'  Faites,  reine  immortelle/ 

Lui  dit-il  en  partant, 
'  Que  j'aime  la  plus  belle; 

Et  sois  le  plus  vaillant.'  " 

"  II  trace  sur  la  pierre 
Le  serment  de  1'honneur, 
Et  va  suivre  a  la  guerre 
Le  comte,  son  seigneur. 
Au  noble  voeu  fidele, 
II  dit,  en  combattant, 
'  Amour  a  la  plus  belle! 
Honneur  au  plus  vaillant! '  " 

"  '  Je  te  dois  la  victoire, 

Dunois,'  dit  le  seigneur, 
'  Puisque  tu  fais  ma  gloire, 
Je  ferai  ton  bonheur. 
De  ma  fille  Isabella 
Sois  1'epoux  a  1'instant, 
Car  elle  est  la  plus  belle, 
Et  toi  le  plus  vaillant.'  " 


MARIE  193 

"  A  1'autel  de  Marie, 

Us  contractent,  tous  deux 

Cette  union  cherie, 

Qui  seule  rend  heureux. 

Chacun  dans  la  chapelle 

Disait,  en  les  voyarit, 
'  Amour  a  la  plus  belle! 

Honneur  au  plus  vaillant! ' ' 

And  when,  on  the  following  morning,  Marie  in  her 
simple  white  gown  and  Pierre  in  his  splendid  uniform 
of  the  Garde  Imperiale  stood  up  before  Father  Morot 
in  the  little  Chapel  of  St.  Laurent,  old  Henri  Jodelle, 
Frederic  Bonneville,  Philippe  Courteau,  Jacques  le 
Page  and  all  the  rest,  cried — 

"  Amour  a  la  plus  belle! 
Honneur  au  plus  vaillant!  " 


.    CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  MISSION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM 

Hail  to  thee,  lady!  and  the  grace  of  heaven, 
Before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 
Enwheel  thee  round. 

— SHAKESPEARE,  Othello, 

THEY  spent  the  honeymoon  in  Grenoble  in  the 
simplest,  happiest  way.  Once  they  dined  with  dame 
Bovard,  and  that  day  was  memorable,  because  on  their 
way  Eome  they  met  Monsieur  Montfort,  the  rich 
banker,  and  he  stopped  and  talked  to  them,  hat  in 
hand.  When  they  walked  on,  Pierre  felt  that  he  would 
like  to  run  again  to  the  Rue  Montorge  and  cry  to  the 
dear  mother,  "  Monsieur  Montfort,  the  rich  banker 
who  lives  in  the  Place  Grenette,  has  talked  to  me,  hat 
in  hand.  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  He  was  only  a 
boy,  after  all.  Once  they  walked  to  the  fortress  called 
La  Bastille,  from  the  old  feudal  castle  which  stood 
there  many,  many  years  before.  The  bright  March 
sun  was  sinking  and  the  gray  walls  glowed  gloriously 
in  the  ruddy  light.  They  went  up  to  the  battlements. 
At  their  feet,  Grenoble  with  its  ramparts  and  canals 
lay  spread  out  as  though  on  a  plain;  the  straight  road 
to  Vizille  stretched  in  front,  and  the  winding  valley  of 
the  Isere  ended  in  the  barricades  of  Mont  Blanc. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful,  Pierre? "  said  Marie. 

"  Yes,"  said  Pierre. 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  195 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  drew  her  closely  to 
him.  She  nestled  her  head,  and  they  stood,  looking 
out  over  the  city — the  city  of  their  youth,  the  city  of 
their  love.  Pierre  drew  himself  up  proudly,  for  Gren- 
oble, glowing  in  the  ruby  rays,  appeared  to  be  doing 
him  honor ;  the  murmuring  city  seemed  to  say,  "  He 
has  won  his  fight;  he  has  won  his  cross;  he  has  won 
his  bride.  Hurrah  for  the  brave  soldier!  " 

A  great  thrill  of  pride  and  joy  swept  over  him.  He 
felt  as  he  fancied  the  Little  Corporal  did  when  he 
placed  on  his  head  the  crown  which  had  cost  him  so 
much  thought  and  effort.  Pierre  had  no  crown  to 
give  the  wife  at  his  side,  but  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

Honeymoons,  however,  like  all  else  in  this  ever- 
changing  world,  must  end,  and  on  the  I5th  of 
March,  Pierre  was  summoned  to  Paris  to  attend 
another  wedding — a  wedding  amid  Imperial  pomp,  a 
wedding  amid  the  acclamations  of  two  nations,  a  wed- 
ding amid  a  wondering  world.  For  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  having  been  divorced,  whom  will  he  marry? 
That  was  the  great  question  agitating  the  minds  of  the 
French  statesmen — aye  and  the  statesmen  of  all 
Europe,  too — in  the  early  days  of  1810.  Come  forth, 
then,  eligible  princesses  of  Russia,  Austria  and  Sax- 
ony ;  let  us  consider  you  to  see  which  of  you  is  worthy 
to  sit  upon  the  Gallic  throne  and  give  sons  to  France. 
For  it  is  a  son  that  the  Emperor  desires,  who,  bearing 
the  title  King  of  Rome,  may  one  day  consolidate 
his  work,  inheriting  his  diadem  of  France,  his  iron 
crown  of  Lombardy,  and  his  Empire  of  Charlemagne 
rcdivivus. 

Behold  then  in  the  early  days  of  1810,  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  the  King  of  Holland,  the  Viceroy  of  Italy, 


196  THE  GRENADIER 

the  Cardinal  Fesch,  the  great  dignitaries,  the  ministers, 
and  the  presidents  of  the  Senate  and  of  the  Corps 
Legislatif,  assembled  in  solemn  council  in  the  Tuileries 
Palace  to  decide  this  matter. 

Saxony  having  been  set  to  one  side,  there  remained 
but  Russia  and  Austria — a  grandduchess  and  an 
archduchess — and  all  the  momentous  possibilities  that 
a  choice  of  either  of  them  implied.  The  pros  and  cons 
were  discussed  at  length.  Fouche,  and  especially  the 
Arch-chancellor  Cambaceres,  favored  the  Russian 
grandduchess,  and  each  in  turn  expressed  his  views, 
some  saying  much,  some  little,  and  finally  it  was  M. 
de  Talleyrand's  turn.  Hear,  then,  Prince  Machiavelli 
de  Talleyrand-Perigord  as  he  rose  nonchalantly  from 
his  place  at  the  council  board,  snuff-box  in  hand. 
"  Suppose,"  said  he,  "  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
marries  the  grandduchess  and  that  we  are  in  a  year's 
time  from  now  assembled  in  this  room  and  at  the  same 
table;  the  door  is  thrown  open,  the  arrival  of  a  messen- 
ger is  announced  and  this  messenger  brings  the  news 
of  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Alexander.  As  a  result 
of  this  death  the  whole  situation  undergoes  a  complete 
change.  No  longer  are  we  sure  of  a  Russian  alliance; 
the  influence  of  Austria,  Prussia  and  England  becomes 
paramount  at  St.  Petersburg  and  all  the  advantageous 
results  of  the  marriage  are  a  thing  of  the  past.  Let 
us  assume  the  contrary  hypothesis.  The  Emperor 
marries  an  archduchess;  when  after  a  year's  time  news 
comes  of  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Francis  it  is  noth- 
ing more  than  a  case  of  family  mourning.  The  politi- 
cal interests  of  both  countries  are  bound  up  together 
and  do  not  undergo  any  modification,  and  the  Aus- 
trian cabinet  continues  to  be  as  anxious  to  preserve 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  197 

intact  the  alliance  as  does  the  French  one.  This  con- 
sideration is  so  potent  a  one  in  my  estimation  that  it 
does  not  suffer  me  to  hesitate  as  to  the  advice  which 
I  am  not  called  upon  to  give." 

All  the  world  knows  to  what  decision  the  council 
came  and  whether  it  was  a  Russian  grandduchess  or 
an  Austrian  archduchess  whom  Napoleon  married. 

"  I  am  somewhat  surprised,  Monseigneur,"  said  M. 
Pasquier  two  days  later  to  the  Arch-chancellor  Cam- 
baceres,  "  that  your  opinion  did  not  prevail." 

"  That  need  not  surprise  you,"  answered  Camba- 
ceres,  "  when  a  man  has  only  one  good  reason  to  ad- 
vance and  when  it  is  impossible  to  utter  that,  it  is 
natural  that  he  should  be  beaten." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  inquired  M.  Pasquier. 

"  Oh,  no  matter,"  replied  the  Arch-chancellor. 

"  But  I  assure  you  I  am  most  anxious  to  know." 

"  You  give  me  your  word  that  you  will  keep  it  a 
secret?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Well,"  said  Cambaceres,  "  you  will  see  that  my 
reason  is  so  good  that  a  single  sentence  will  be  enough 
to  make  it  understood.  I  am  morally  certain  that  ere 
two  years  have  gone  by  we  shall  be  engaged  in  a 
war  with  the  power  whose  daughter  the  Emperor  will 
not  have  married.  Now  a  war  with  Austria  does  not 
give  one  the  slightest  anxiety,  but  I  dread  a  war  with 
Russia,  for  its  consequences  are  not  to  be  calculated." 

Merrily  rang  the  bells  of  old  Vienna  on  the  5th  of 
March,  1810;  gaily  the  people  thronged  the  avenues, 
brightly  the  garlands  floated  from  the  house-fronts, 
pompously  the  imperial  carriages  rolled  out  of  the 
Hofburg,  for  on  this  day  the  Marshal  Berthier  made 


198  THE  GRENADIER 

his  solemn  entry  to  ask,  for  his  all-powerful  friend  and 
sovereign,  the  hand  of  Marie  Louise.  Less  than  a 
year  before  Prince  Berthier  had  stood  at  Napoleon's 
side  before  Vienna  while  the  French  shells  crashed 
into  the  city;  less  than  a  year  before  he  had  gained  his 
title,  Prince  of  Wagram,  upon  the  plain  beyond  the 
Danube  while  the  Austrian  army  of  the  Archduke 
Charles  fell  back  before  the  guns  of  Lauriston  and  the 
bayonets  of  Macdonald.  But  now  the  court  and  peo- 
ple rushed  to  greet  him,  for  he  rode  no  longer  thunder- 
ing in  the  Imperial  train  among  the  bayonets  of  the 
Old  Guard,  but  came  bearing  palms  of  peace  and 
hopes  of  friendship  with  Cupid  victor  as  postillion. 
The  happy  Viennese  could  hardly  be  restrained  from 
taking  out  the  horses  and  drawing  into  their  Imperial 
Kaiserstadt  the  carriage  of  the  Marshal  Prince  of 
Wagram. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  Emperor  Francis,  "  you  are  to 
go  to  France  and  marry  Napoleon.  The  interests  of 
Austria  demand  it.  The  glory  of  the  House  of  Haps- 
burg  requires  it." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  the  Archduchess  Marie  Louise. 

Four  years  later,  in  the  palace  at  Rambouillet,  the 
Austrian  Emperor  said  to  the  wife  of  Napoleon  and 
the  mother  of  the  King  of  Rome :  "  My  daughter, 
you  are  to  go  back  to  Vienna.  The  interests  of  Austria 
demand  it.  The  glory  of  the  House  of  Hapsburg  re- 
quires it." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  the  Empress  Marie  Louise. 

Ah!  but  why  look  ahead?  Ring  the  bells  merrily, 
hang  the  windows  with  gay  tapestries,  rear  the  great 
pavilion  at  Braunau,  fire  the  guns  of  Munich,  raise  the 
triumphal  arches  of  Strassburg,  light  the  illuminations 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  199 

of  Luneville  and  Nancy,  cover  the  walls  of  the  Impe- 
rial apartments  at  Compiegne  with  gorgeous  cash- 
meres. For  Marie  Louise,  the  daughter  of  the 
Caesars,  taken  from  her  quiet  Schonbrunn  boudoir, 
her  birds,  her  embroidery  and  her  spaniels,  is  en  route 
to  wed  the  Man  of  the  People,  whom  genius  and 
glory — Rivoli,  Marengo,  Austerlitz,  Jena,  Friedland, 
Wagram — have  made  the  Jupiter  Tonans  of  the 
world's  Olympus;  is  en  route  to  mount  the  proudest 
throne  since  the  days  of  Alexander,  of  Caesar,  or  of 
Charlemagne,  and  find  Europe  at  her  feet. 

Loudly  the  poets — Tissot,  Sauzon,  Gazelle,  Arnault, 
Emenard,  Rougemont,  Brugniere — sang  their  peans. 
Was  not  the  Fourth  Dynasty  founded  now  ail- 
gloriously,  ail-immovably?  Did  not  the  Etoile  Napo- 
leonienne  shed  light  on  all  the  world?  Sing,  then, 
melodious  poets,  strike  the  golden  lyre,  spring  on 
white-winged  Pegasus  and,  soaring  to  the  blue, 
ethereal  realm  where  glitters  that  bright  Star  Napo- 
leonic, chant  a  glorious  epic!  Vincit  amor  omnial 
France  and  Austria  united  by  the  hand  of  Marie 
Louise ! 

"Who  will  be  dame  d'honneur  to  the  new  Em- 
press? "  cried  all  the  great  court  ladies,  and  the  Morte- 
marts,  Montmorencies,  Bouilles,  Vintimilles,  Canisys, 
Rovigos,  Duchatels  and  Lauristons  bestirred  them- 
selves, and  all  the  court  feminine  was  in  a  flutter  of 
agitation.  But  one  little  lady  sat  apart  from  it  all, 
mourning  in  her  widow's  weeds.  And  the  day  came 
when  the  Imperial  decree  was  published,  and  in  it  the 
Emperor  said  to  all  the  world,  "  I'll  not  have  a  Morte- 
mart,  a  Montmorency,  a  Bouille,  or  a  Vintimille.  The 
rank  of  dame  d'honneur,  first  lady  in  waiting  to  the 


200  THE  GRENADIER 

Empress,  the  highest  court  favor  I  have  to  bestow,  I 
give  to  the  Duchess  de  Montebello,  the  widow  of  my 
sturdy  Lannes,  my  brave  'Ajax,'  my  Marshal  of 
France  who  was  once  a  grenadier." 

And  now  the  Emperor,  awaiting  impatiently  at  Com- 
piegne the  arrival  of  his  Austrian  bride,  received 
news  that  she  was  approaching  Soissons,  would  in 
fact  arrive  at  Compiegne  upon  the  morrow,  the  28th 
of  March.  Upon  the  morrow?  Why  not  to-day? 
Why  be  held  any  longer  by  that  tedious,  people- 
impressing,  sensation-producing  ceremonial  against 
which  he  had  already  railed? 

"Constant!  a  carriage  without  livery  and  my  gray 
greatcoat  of  Wagram,"  cried  the  Emperor,  and  with 
Murat,  the  King  of  Naples,  he  set  out  at  a  gallop  in  the 
pouring  rain  for  Soissons.  And  when  the  cortege  of 
the  Archduchess  came  clattering  over  the  stones  and 
pulled  up  at  the  post-house  to  change  horses,  he  flung 
open  the  door  of  her  carriage,  sprang  in  all  wet  and 
muddy  from  his  hurried  journey  and  threw  his  arms 
about  her  neck,  while  the  Queen  of  Naples 'thus  an- 
nounced him,  "  Madame,  it  is  the  Emperor." 

There  was  a  splendid  supper  awaiting  the  Arch- 
duchess and  her  suite  at  Soissons.  The  lights  glit- 
tered and  the  tables  loaded  with  savory  viands  sent 
forth  tempting  odors.  Hungry  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  Imperial  cortege,  do  you  fancy  that  you  will 
taste  these  good  things  to-night?  If  so,  you  greatly 
err.  Fresh  horses  have  been  put  in,  the  postillions  are 
in  the  saddles,  and  the  indisputable  word  is  uttered, 
"  En  avant!  To  Compiegne!  " 

So  they  went  at  a  gallop  from  Soissons  to  Com- 
piegne, through  the  mud  and  rain  and  cheering  crowds 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  201 

of  people,  up  the  grand  avenue  by  torchlight  to  the 
very  palace  gates.  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you 
may  rest  and  eat  what  the  palace  ctiefs  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night  can  find  for  you.  The  Imperial 
Lochinvar  has  won  his  bride! 

On  the  3  ist  of  March  the  court  set  out  for  Saint 
Cloud,  and  on  the  following  day,  Sunday,  the  ist  of 
April,  1810,  in  the  grand  Apollo  Gallery  adorned  by 
Mignard's  brilliant  frescoes,  in  the  presence  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  King  of  Holland,  Jerome  Napoleon,  King 
of  Westphalia,  Joachim  Murat,  King  of  Naples, 
Eugene,  Viceroy  of  Italy,  the  Prince  Borghese,  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Wiirtzburg,  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Baden,  Hortense,  Queen  of  Holland,  Julia,  Queen  of 
Spain,  Catherine,  Queen  of  Westphalia,  Caroline, 
Queen  of  Naples,  Augusta,  Vice-Queen  of  Italy, 
Elisa,  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany,  Pauline,  Princess 
Borghese,  Stephanie,  Grand  Duchess  of  Baden,  the 
Imperial  Mother,  Madame  Mere,  the  Prince  Arch- 
treasurer,  the  Prince  Vice-Grand  Elector,  and  the 
Prince  Vice-Constable,  the  Arch-chancellor  of  the  Em- 
pire, the  Prince  Cambaceres,  rose  before  a  richly-cov- 
ered table  upon  which  lay  the  marriage  contract  and 
said,  "  In  the  name  of  the  Emperor."  And  as  he 
spoke,  Napoleon  and  Marie  Louise  rose  from  their 
places  and  stood  waiting  the  Arch-chancellor's  word. 

It  was  a  far  cry  from  that  Sunday  the  ist  of  April, 
1810,  to  the  day  when  at  the  military  school  of  Brienne 
the  little  Corsican  boy  had  led  the  attack  upon  the  fort 
of  snow,  and,  with  "  Homer  in  his  pocket  and  his 
sword  by  his  side,  hoped  to  carve  his  way  through  the 
world."  Strange  things  had  come  to  pass  since  then. 
Until  now  in  the  Apollo  Gallery  of  that  beautiful  Pal- 


202  THE  GRENADIER 

ace  of  Saint  Cloud,  once  the  palace  of  Louis  the  Grand 
Monarque,  now  the  palace  of  Napoleon,  Emperor  of 
the  French,  surrounded  by  all  those  Kings  and  Queens 
whom  he  had  placed  on  thrones  and  whom  he  held 
there  by  his  victorious  sword,  he  stood,  waiting  to  say 
the  word  which  should  unite  him  to  the  great  Imperial 
House  of  Hapsburg  and  found  a  dynasty  Napoleonic, 
with  all  Europe  looking  on. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  Arch-chancellor  Cambaceres,  "  does 
Your  Imperial  and  Royal  Majesty  declare  that  he  takes 
in  marriage  Her  Imperial  and  Royal  Highness  Marie 
Louise,  Archduchess  of  Austria,  here  present?  " 

And  the  Emperor  answered,  "  I  declare  that  I  take 
in  marriage  Her  Imperial  and  Royal  Highness  Marie 
Louise,  Archduchess  of  Austria,  here  present." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  Arch-chancellor,  "  does  Your 
Imperial  and  Royal  Highness  declare  that  she  takes  in 
marriage  His  Imperial  and  Royal  Majesty  Napoleon, 
Emperor  of  the  French,  here  present?  " 

And  the  Archduchess  answered,  "  I  declare  that  I 
take  in  marriage  His  Imperial  and  Royal  Majesty, 
Napoleon,  Emperor  of  the  French,  here  present" 

"  Then  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor  and  of  the  law," 
said  the  Arch-chancellor,  "  I  declare  that  His  Imperial 
and  Royal  Majesty  Napoleon,  Emperor  of  the  French 
and  King  of  Italy,  and  Her  Imperial  and  Royal  High- 
ness Marie  Louise,  Archduchess  of  Austria,  are  united 
in  marriage."  And  the  thunders  of  the  artillery  in  the 
palace  park  and  at  the  Invalides  in  Paris  shook  the 
windows  of  the  Apollo  Gallery  in  the  Palace  of  Saint 
Cloud. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  the  day 
of  the  public  entry,  every  window  on  the  line  of  march 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  203 

from  Saint  Cloud  to  the  Tuileries  was  filled  with  men 
and  women.  The  people  from  all  the  surrounding 
country  had  flocked  to  Paris,  and  from  the  iron  rail- 
ings of  the  courtyard  of  Saint  Cloud,  through  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  and  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  a 
vast  concourse  of  humanity,  joyous  and  expectant, 
stretched  to  the  doors  of  the  Tuileries  Palace.  Flags, 
bunting,  portraits  and  monograms  of  the  Emperor  and 
of  the  Empress  abounded,  and  the  Imperial  eagles 
flapped  their  wings  on  every  side.  All  night  the  car- 
penters and  decorators  had  been  busy  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  the  great  temporary  structure 
erected  upon  the  rising  foundations  of  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  which  bore  in  large  letters,  "  To  Napoleon 
and  Marie  Louise,  the  City  of  Paris."  At  the  top  of 
the  arch  were  twelve  medallions,  and  on  one  of  these 
which  contained  a  portrait  of  the  Empress  was  this 
inscription,  "  She  announces  happy  days  to  the  world." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  procession  left  Saint 
Cloud.  First  came  the  cavalry  of  the  Imperial  Guard, 
lancers,  chasseurs,  and  dragoons;  then  the  carriage  of 
the  Empress,  empty  and  drawn  by  eight  gray  horses; 
then  the  gilded  coronation  coach  with  its  crown  and 
eagles,  in  which  were  the  Emperor  and  the  Empress, 
and  by  the  side  of  which  rode  the  Marshals  of  the 
Empire.  Then  thirty  gilded  carriages  containing  the 
court,  and  finally  detachments  of  cavalry  from  all  the 
army  corps. 

And  so  while  the  cannon  of  the  Invalides  sounded, 
and  the  bells  of  the  city  churches  tolled  and  the  people 
shouted  again  and  again  the  Imperial  name,  the  glitter- 
ing pageant  advanced  majestically  through  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  and  the  Maillot  gate,  down  the  Avenue  des 


204  THE  GRENADIER 

Champs  Elysees  and  across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde 
— that  Place  de  la  Concorde  where  seventeen  years 
before  another  Austrian  Archduchess  from  the  summit 
of  her  scaffold  had  looked  for  the  last  time  on  earth 
toward  the  dome  of  the  Tuileries  Palace.  Shout,  peo- 
ple of  Paris!  The  wars  and  revolutions  are  over. 
The  Dynasty  Napoleonic  is  founded  forever.  France 
and  Austria  are  united.  As  a  pledge  of  their  sincerity 
behold  your  Empress,  a  daughter  of  the  Caesars — 
"  She  announces  happy  days  to  the  world !  " 

In  the  great  gallery  of  the  Louvre  that  stretched 
from  the  Old  Louvre  to  the  Chapel  at  the  end  of  the 
Tuileries  Pavilion,  on  the  side  next  to  the  Pont  Royal, 
were  three  rows  of  benches  crowded  with  the  great 
ladies  of  Paris.  At  regular  intervals  in  this  long  gal- 
lery were  placed  ninety-six  canteens  of  refreshments, 
served  by  fifty  non-commissioned  officers  of  the  Impe- 
rial Guard  commanded  by  General  Dorsenne.  Pierre 
was  stationed  at  the  third  canteen  from  the  great  door 
that  led  to  the  Imperial  Chapel,  and  he  had  forty-eight 
ladies  to  serve.  And  wonderful  ladies  they  were  with 
their  dresses  cut  so  low  in  the  front  and  back  that 
Pierre  was  almost  embarrassed  when  he  went  to  offer 
them  refreshments.  Some  were  young  and  some  were 
old,  some  were  beautiful  and  some  were  ugly,  some 
had  clear  white  skins  and  some  were  yellow  and 
wrinkled  like  parchment,  but  they  were  all  gorgeous 
in  necklaces,  bracelets  and  tiaras  of  rubies,  diamonds 
and  pearls.  The  men  in  their  short  breeches  and 
splendidly-embroidered  coats  with  diamond-shaped 
steel  buttons,  stood  behind  the  ladies,  and  Pierre  felt 
that  he  had  never  known  what  clothes  were  until  that 
moment. 


THE  PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM  205 

When  the  shouts  in  the  Tuileries  courtyard  an- 
nounced that  the  Imperial  couple  had  arrived,  every- 
one in  the  grand  gallery  rose,  and  soon  Pierre  saw  the 
pompous  procession,  framed  by  the  gilded  paintings  of 
the  Louvre  and  the  long  lines  of  jeweled  and  em- 
broidered dames  de  cour,  advancing  slowly  to  the 
Chapel.  The  Empress  Marie  Louise,  with  her  splen- 
did diamond  diadem  and  her  train  borne  by  the  Queens 
of  Holland,  Spain,  Naples,  and  Westphalia,  created  a 
profound  impression,  and  the  Emperor  Napoleon  ap- 
peared happy  and  serene.  But,  as  they  reached  the 
door  that  led  into  the  Chapel,  Pierre  saw  the  Queen  of 
Holland  lift  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  And  when 
all  that  imposing  array  of  Kings  and  Queens,  Grand 
Dukes  and  Grand  Duchesses,  had  passed  by,  General 
Dorsenne  collected  the  grenadiers  and  marched  them 
into  the  Chapel,  where,  in  the  solemn  silence  while  all 
the  assembly  remained  standing,  Pierre  saw  Napoleon 
and  Marie  Louise  kneeling  on  cushions  decorated  with 
the  golden  bees,  receiving  the  benediction  of  the 
Church. 

That  night  Paris  was  on  fire  with  illuminations; 
the  Garde-Meuble,  the  Temple  of  Glory,  the  Tuileries 
Palace,  the  Corps  Legislatif,  the  Bridge  Louis  XV, 
the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  houses,  palaces,  and 
churches  even  to  their  lofty  towers,  glittered  with  light 
There  were  transparencies  representing  peace,  and 
genii  carrying  bucklers,  and  magistrates,  warriors  and 
people  presenting  crowns  to  the  Emperor  and  the  Em- 
press, and  the  Seine  and  the  Danube  surrounded  by 
children;  there  were  orange-trees  of  flame,  and  gar- 
lands of  colored  lamps,  and  columns  of  dazzling 
brightness,  and  tripods  of  fire,  while  over  all  and  above 


206  THE  GRENADIER 

all,  from  the  dome  of  Sainte  Genevieve,  scintillating 
like  a  diamond,  blazed  a  great  Imperial  star. 

Ah!  shout,  good  people  of  Paris.  Fire  your  guns 
and  light  your  illuminations.  Your  great  War-Lord 
has  sheathed  his  sword.  The  Lion  is  in  love,  and 
Marie  Louise  is  Venus  Vicirix.  "  She  announces 
happy  days  to  the  world !  " 

What  did  Pierre  think  of  this  Austrian  marriage? 
We  only  know  that  when,  a  year  later,  the  hundred 
guns  of  the  Invalides  had  announced  the  birth  of  a 
King  of  Rome,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  Empire  depu- 
tations were  thronging  the  Tuileries  Palace,  bearing 
their  congratulations  to  the  second  Charlemagne, 
Pierre  received  a  letter  from  Grenoble,  which  said, 
"  Pierre,  you  have  a  little  daughter.  What  shall  we 
name  her?  " 

And  Pierre  sent  back  this  answer:  "  Let  us  call  her 
Josephine." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
AT  THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN 

His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings. 

— SHAKESPEARE,  The  Merchant  of  Venice. 

"  PIERRE,"  said  Francois  Legrand,  coming  one  morn- 
ing into  the  barracks  at  Courbevoie,  "  get  yourself  a 
fur  pelisse.  We're  going  to  Russia." 

Pierre  dropped  the  belt  which  he  was  cleaning  and 
looked  up.  "  The  devil  we  are!  "  said  he.  "  How  do 
you  know  that?" 

"Jovyac  told  me.  His  brother  is  an  agent  of 
Fouche's;  so  he  knows  all  state  secrets." 

"  Well,  what  are  we  going  to  Russia  for?  "  inquired 
Pierre. 

"  What  for?  "  exclaimed  Francois.  "  To  give  them 

a  d d  good  licking,  of  course.  What  else  should 

we  go  for?  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  lick  them  fast  enough,"  said  Pierre, 
picking  up  the  belt,  "Cela  va  sans  dire;  but  there's 
politics  mixed  up  with  it,  isn't  there?  " 

"  Pish ! "  cried  Francois,  contemptuously,  "  who 
cares  for  politics?  March  and  fight,  that's  my  politics. 
Good  politics,  too.  Look  what  it's  done  for  the  Little 
Corporal.  Sacre!  I  haven't  smelled  powder  for  two 
years.  This  lazy  life  is  killing  me." 


208  THE  GRENADIER 

Frangois  meant  what  he  said.  War  is  the  soldier's 
trade.  In  times  of  peace  he  is  restless,  for  he  has  no 
opportunity  to  practice  his  profession.  Peace,  so  dear 
to  the  heart  of  the  civilian,  means  to  him  only  the  dull 
routine  of  barrack  life.  He  longs  for  the  camp,  the 
combat  and  the  crash  of  arms. 

Soldier  of  the  Empire,  your  wish  shall  be  gratified. 
Your  great  War-Lord  marches  with  Western  Europe 
in  his  train;  and  in  that  far-distant  Russia,  where  your 
martial  imagination  beholds  victory  waiting  to  crown 
her  favorite  son,  you  shall  see  the  Kremlin's  dome — 
and  more! 

There  have  been  triumphal  marches,  but  the  march 
of  the  Imperial  Guard  from  Paris  to  Dresden  was  one 
perpetual  ovation.  In  every  town  they  passed  beneath 
arches  erected  in  their  honor;  in  every  town  they  ad- 
vanced between  lines  of  cheering  people.  The  peas- 
ant girls  ran  forward  and  threw  flowers  to  them,  or 
fastened  roses  in  their  lofty  bearskin  caps ;  and  the  men 
cried,  "See!  it  is  the  Imperial  Guard."  "How 
proudly  they  march ! "  "  They  have  never  been 
beaten."  "  They  can  never  be  beaten."  "  They  are 
the  Emperor's  pride."  Then  from  the  throngs  came 
the  shout  repeated  over  and  over  again,  "  Vive  la 
Garde  Imperiale ! " 

Add  to  it  all  the  music  of  a  hundred  bands,  and  no 
wonder  the  veterans  held  their  heads  high.  Pierre 
was  drunk  with  glory,  while  Frangois  Legrand  de- 
clared he  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before,  and 
he  had  seen  much. 

Thus  honored  and  acclaimed,  the  grenadiers  reached 
Dresden  on  the  28th  of  May,  1812,  and  swept  with 
a  swinging  stride  into  the  crowded  Zwinger.  The 


THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN   209 

bands  of  the  regiments   played  the  warlike   strain, 
and  the  marching  veterans  sung  their  triumph-song: 

Vive  1'Empereur! 

It  is  our  battle-cry. 

With  it  we  gaily  face  the  foe; 

With  it  we  gladly  die. 

We  love  it  like  a  wife  or  child, 

And  glory,  its  reward. 

We're  heroes  of  a  hundred  fights, 

The  great  Imperial  Guard. 

En  avant!  En  avant! 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war; 
The  cannons  loudly  roar, 
The  eagles  proudly  soar. 
En  avant  I  En  avant  I 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war. 
Behold  advance  the  flag  of  France, 
Triumphant  tricolor  el 

Vive  1'Empereur! 

It  is  our  battle-cheer. 

With  it  we  summon  courage; 

With  it,  inspire  fear. 

It  burnishes  for  daring  deeds, 

Made  glorious  by  the  sword, 

The  cuirass  of  Napoleon, 

The  great  Imperial  Guard. 

En  avant!  En  avant! 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war; 
The  cannons  loudly  roar, 
The  eagles  proudly  soar. 
En  avant!  En  avant! 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war. 
Behold  advance  the  flag  of  France, 
Triumphant  tricolorel 

The  crowds  took  up  the  refrain  and  followed  the 
grenadiers.     Dresden  was  a  gallant   sight  that  day, 

14 


210  THE  GRENADIER 

for  Dresden  was  en  fete.  Through  the  beautiful 
Z winger  of  Augustus  II  and  across  the  great  Theater 
Platz  rolled  long  lines  of  gilded  carriages,  drawn  by 
splendid  horses,  crowded  on  the  steps  with  laced 
and  powdered  footmen  and  bearing  the  grand  lords 
of  Germany  to  the  Royal  Palace.  About  the  palace 
gates  was  gathered  a  dense  mass  of  people,  pushing 
and  jostling  each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  Dukes,  Princes  and  high  dignitaries 
who  passed  by  them  in  rapid  succession. 

One  after  another  the  carriages  dashed  into  the 
palace  courtyard  and  drew  up  before  the  main  en- 
trance, and,  as  their  occupants  ascended  the  marble 
staircase,  the  Royal  Guards  presented  arms.  In  the 
grand  gallery  were  assembled  the  Prince  of  Saxe- 
Weimar,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Wurtzburg,  the  Grand 
Duke  of  Baden,  the  Prince  of  Saxe-Coburg,  the 
Prince  of  Nassau,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse-Darm- 
stadt, the  Archbishop  of  Regensburg,  the  Prince  of 
Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  M.  de  Metternich  the  Austrian 
Ambassador,  the  Prince  Primate  of  the  Rhine  Con- 
federation, the  Prince  of  Mecklenburg-Schwerin,  and 
with  them  a  great  throng  of  Barons,  Generals,  Counts 
and  diplomats. 

The  King  of  Saxony  had  never  held  so  brilliant  a 
levee.  And  as  that  numerous  assembly,  gathered  in 
groups,  was  engaged  in  animated  conversation,  the 
folding  doors  at  one  end  of  the  apartment  were 
thrown  open  and  the  voice  of  an  usher  resounded 
through  the  gallery,  "  His  Majesty  the  King  of 
Wurtemburg,  His  Majesty  the  King  of  Bavaria." 

They  too  had  come,  then,  to  grace  the  King  of 
Saxony's  levee.  They  mingled  among  the  crowd  of 


THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN   211 

courtiers,  and  the  conversation  went  on.  The  King 
of  Saxony  had  grown  great  indeed  when  his  brothers 
of  Wurtemburg  and  of  Bavaria  paid  him  such  an 
honor.  Again  the  doors  were  opened,  and  again  the 
voice  of  the  usher  resounded  through  the  gallery, 
"  His  Majesty  the  King  of  Naples,  His  Majesty  the 
King  of  Westphalia." 

But  the  conversation  did  not  stop,  and  the  Kings 
of  Naples  and  of  Westphalia,  like  their  brothers  of 
Bavaria  and  of  Wurtemburg,  mingled  among  the 
crowd.  They  too  had  come  to  grace  the  King  of 
Saxony's  levee.  Again  the  doors  were  opened,  and 
again  the  usher's  voice  resounded  through  the  gal- 
lery, "His  Majesty  the  King  of  Saxony."  The 
Saxon  King  had  never  held  so  brilliant  a  levee. 

The  King  of  Saxony  entered  slowly,  and  the  Kings 
of  Wurtemburg  and  of  Bavaria  advanced  to  meet 
him.  But  the  conversation  did  not  stop.  The  court 
circle  was  not  formed.  It  was  evidently  not  to  honor 
the  King  of  Saxony  that  all  those  sovereign  Princes 
had  assembled.  Whom  then  had  all  those  sovereign 
Princes  come  to  honor  in  the  Saxon  capital,  if  not 
the  Saxon  King? 

Again  the  doors  were  opened,  and  again  the  usher's 
voice  resounded  through  the  gallery,  "  His  Majesty 
the  King  of  Prussia  and  His  Royal  Highness  the 
Crown  Prince." 

It  was  the  King  of  Prussia,  then,  that  all  those 
Princes,  Dukes,  and  Barons  had  come  from  all  parts 
of  Germany  to  honor. 

As  the  King  of  Prussia  entered,  the  King  of 
Saxony,  M.  de  Hardenburg,  and  the  Prince  of  Meck- 
lenburg-Schwerin  came  forward.  But  the  conversa- 


212  THE  GRENADIER 

tion  did  not  stop,  and  the  Kings  of  Bavaria,  of  Wur- 
temburg,  of  Naples,  and  of  Westphalia,  hardly  noticed 
the  Prussian  monarch.  He  too,  then,  was  a  courtier. 
Suddenly  the  roll  of  drums  was  heard  upon  the  stair- 
case, the  folding  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the 
usher  announced  with  becoming  grandiloquence, 
"  His  Imperial  Majesty  the  Emperor  of  Austria!  " 

Ah!  he  surely  was  the  person  for  whom  that  bril- 
liant assembly  waited  in  the  Royal  Palace,  Dresden. 

The  King  of  Saxony,  the  King  of  Bavaria,  M.  de 
Metternich,  and  the  Prince  of  Saxe- Weimar  hurried 
forward  to  meet  the  Austrian  Emperor.  But  the 
conversation  did  not  stop.  The  court  circle  was  not 
formed.  Nor  did  the  Emperor  of  Austria  appear  to 
expect  it,  for  he  quietly  drew  M.  de  Metternich  into 
a  corner  and  began  to  talk  earnestly  with  him.  And 
now,  as  the  palace  clock  struck  nine,  the  folding  doors 
at  the  other  end  of  the  grand  gallery — those  doors 
which  until  then  had  remained  fast  closed,  those  doors 
toward  which  had  been  directed  the  glance  of  many 
a  King,  sovereign  Prince,  Grand  Duke  and  Grand 
Elector — were  opened,  and  instantly  the  conversa- 
tion stopped. 

Upon  the  threshold  appeared  an  Imperial  cham- 
berlain with  his  white  waistcoat,  knee-breeches,  and 
silver  embroidered  coat  of  scarlet  silk,  and,  looking 
at  the  assembled  sovereigns,  he  said  slowly, 
"Messieurs,  FEmpereur  vous  accorde  les  grandes 
entrees" 

Through  the  doorway  passed  the  Emperor  of 
Austria,  the  King  of  Prussia,  the  King  of  Saxony, 
the  King  of  Bavaria,  the  King  of  Wurtemberg,  the 
Bang  of  Naples,  the  King  of  Westphalia,  the  Grand 


THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN   213 

Duke  of  Baden,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Wiirtzburg,  the 
Prince  of  Saxe-Coburg,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse- 
Darmstadt,  the  Prince  of  Mecklenburg-Schwerin, 
and  all  that  crowd  of  Barons,  diplomats  and  Grand 
Electors.  At  the  further  end  of  the  apartment  into 
which  they  entered,  dressed  in  his  plain  uniform  of 
the  chasseurs  a  cheval,  with  one  hand  thrust  into  his 
v/aistcoat  and  holding  in  the  other  his  famous  little 
hat,  stood  Napoleon.  He  it  was  who  held  the  grand 
levee.  He  had  passed  some  days  in  the  capital  of 
his  friend  the  King  of  Saxony,  and  from  all  parts 
of  Europe  his  vassal  and  allied  sovereigns  had  come 
to  do  him  homage,  and  on  the  morrow  he  was  to 
set  out  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  five  hundred 
thousand  men  and  begin  his  march  to  Moscow.  He 
came  forward,  and  the  long  lines  of  glittering  Kings, 
Princes,  Dukes  and  Barons  assumed  an  attitude  of 
respectful  attention. 

"  And  how  is  Your  Majesty  this  morning? "  said 
he,  smiling  and  addressing  the  Emperor  of  Austria. 

"  Quite  well,  sire,  my  son,"  answered  Francis,  "  I 
have  very  gratifying  news  for  you." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Emperor,  with  a  look  of 
interest 

"  I  trust  it  will  give  Your  Majesty  as  much  pleasure 
as  it  has  given  me,"  said  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  "  I 
have  discovered  that  the  Bonapartes  were  formerly 
sovereigns  at  Treviso.  There  can  be  no  doubt  about 
the  matter.  I  have  caused  the  authentic  titles  to  be 
procured  and  presented  to  me.  I  have  already  told 
Marie  Louise  and  she  is  enchanted  at  the  news." 

While  the  Emperor  of  Austria  was  speaking,  Napo- 
leon's face  had  lost  its  interested  look,  his  eyes  wan- 


214  THE  GRENADIER 

dered  about  the   room   and  a   faint  smile  appeared 
upon  his  mouth. 

"  My  dear  father-in-law,"  said  he,  "  it  is  really  very 
good  of  you  to  take  this  trouble  on  my  account, 
but  I  assure  you  I  have  no  need  of  ancestors.  I 
am  the  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg  of  my  family.  My  title 
of  nobility  dates  from  the  battle  of  Montenotte." 

"  Sire,  my  brother,"  said  the  King  of  Prussia, 
dropping  the  tassels  of  his  sword  which  he  had  been 
nervously  fingering  and  coming  a  step  or  two  nearer 
Napoleon,  "  my  son  is  anxious  to  learn  the  art  of 
war.  I  am  sure  he  can  learn  it  nowhere  better  than 
under  your  conquering  eagles.  Will  Your  Majesty 
do  me  the  honor  to  take  him  as  aide-de-camp  in  the 
Russian  campaign?  " 

"  My  staff  is  very  numerous  now,"  replied  the 
Emperor.  "  He  is  rather  young,  but  I  will  think 
of  it." 

"  Let  me  repeat  to  Your  Majesty  my  assurances  of 
inviolable  attachment  to  the  system  which  unites  us," 
continued  the  King  of  Prussia. 

"Yes,  I  feel  confident  that  I  can  rely  upon  you," 
rejoined  Napoleon.  "How  are  matters  in  Berlin?" 

"  Never  better,  sire.  I  must  tell  Your  Majesty 
about  the  new  coat  I  have  designed  for  my  guards. 
It  has  fourteen  buttons  on  the  front  and  is  lined  with 
blue  and  red." 

"  It  will  be  a  splendid  coat,  no  doubt,"  said  Napo- 
leon, looking  at  his  snuff-box. 

"  I  have  fourteen  buttons  on  the  coats  of  my 
guards  too,"  said  the  Emperor  of  Austria. 

"  No,  sire,  my  brother,  your  guards  have  only 
twelve  buttons  on  their  coats,"  said  the  King  of 
Prussia. 


THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN   215 

"  I  am  sure  there  are  fourteen,"  answered  Francis. 

"  Father-in-law,"  said  Napoleon,  "  Your  Majesty 
cannot  dispute  the  King  of  Prussia.  He  is  au  fait 
in  the  matter  of  buttons.  He  knows  the  cut  and 
color  of  every  uniform  in  Europe.  I  found  that  out 
at  Tilsit"  His  Prussian  Majesty  appeared  much 
flattered. 

"  You  must  come  with  me  and  make  a  tour  of  the 
shops,"  said  the  Emperor  Francis  to  the  Prussian 
King.  "  I  always  like  to  rummage  about  among  the 
shops  when  time  hangs  heavy  on  my  hands." 

"  Your  Majesty  might  visit  the  fortifications,"  re- 
marked Napoleon.  "  The  fortifications  of  a  country 
are  always  useful  and  never  injurious  when  they  are 
well  understood.  If  Vienna  had  been  fortified  in 
1805,  the  battle  of  Ulm  would  not  have  decided  the 
issue  of  the  war.  Had  Berlin  been  fortified  in  1806, 
the  army  beaten  at  Jena  would  have  rallied  there  and 
been  joined  by  the  Russian  army." 

The  King  of  Prussia  looked  blankly  at  the  floor, 
but  the  Austrian  Emperor  grew  red  and  quickly 
changed  the  subject. 

"  What  does  Your  Majesty  think  of  Charles  XII, 
who  like  Your  Majesty  contemplated  a  march  to 
Moscow?"  he  inquired. 

"  Charles  XII  set  out  from  his  camp  at  Alstadt 
near  Leipzig  in  September,  1707,"  said  Napoleon. 
"  He  was  in  condition  to  have  brought  together 
80,000  of  the  best  troops  in  the  world.  In  January, 
1708,  he  arrived  at  Grodno,  where  he  wintered.  In 
June  he  crossed  the  forest  of  Minsk  and  presented 
himself  before  Borisov,  defeated  20,000  Russians  who 
were  strongly  entrenched  behind  marshes,  passed  the 


216  THE  GRENADIER 

Borysthenes  at  Mohilov  and  vanquished  a  corps  of 
Muscovites  near  Smolensko.  He  was  now  advanced 
to  the  confines  of  Lithuania.  Until  this  time  all  his 
movements  were  conformable  to  rule.  He  was  mas- 
ter of  Poland  and  Riga  and  distant  only  ten  days' 
march  from  Moscow,  and  it  is  probable  he  would 
have  reached  that  capital  had  he  not  quitted  the 
highroad  thither  and  directed  his  steps  toward  the 
Ukraine  in  order  to  form  a  junction  with  Mazeppa, 
who  brought  him  only  6000  men.  Had  Charles  XII 
wished  to  reach  Moscow  his  march  was  perfectly 
well  directed  as  far  as  Smolensko,  and  his  line  of 
operations  with  Sweden  and  Riga  was  covered  by 
the  Dwina  as  far  as  the  Borysthenes  and  Mohilov; 
but,  if  his  design  was  to  winter  in  the  Ukraine  and  to 
induce  a  rising  among  the  Cossacks,  he  ought  to  have 
passed  the  Niemen  at  Grodno  and  traversed  Lithua- 
nia. So  much  for  Charles  XII.  How  is  Your 
Majesty  and  what  is  the  spirit  of  yor.r  troops? " 
And  the  Emperor  turned  to  the  King  of  Wurtem- 
berg. 

"  They  are  already  animated  with  ardor  for  the 
great  cause,  sire,  and  I  shall  have  them  harangued 
frequently." 

"  I  would  advise  you  not  to  do  so,"  said  the  Em- 
peror, "it  is  not  harangues  at  the  moment  of  attack 
which  render  them  brave;  old  soldiers  dislike  them 
and  the  young  forget  them  at  the  very  first  fire.  It 
is  discipline  which  binds  troops  to  their  colors. 
There  is  not  a  single  harangue  recorded  by  Livy 
which  was  ever  spoken  by  the  general  of  an  army, 
because  there  is  not  one  which  has  the  characteristic 
of  an  impromptu.  Is  it  not  so,  Monsieur  le  Prince?" 


THE  ROYAL  PALACE,  DRESDEN   217 

The  Prince  of  Mecklenburg-Schwerin,  thus  sud- 
denly appealed  to,  flushed,  looked  down  and  stam- 
mered, "  Really,  sire — I — never  having  read — I 
should  say ." 

"  And  you  would  be  quite  right,  too,  Monsieur  le 
Prince,"  said  Napoleon  hastily,  to  extricate  the 
Prince  from  his  embarrassment.  "  If  harangues  are 
of  any  use  it  is  during  the  course  of  campaign,  to 
dissipate  false  alarms,  keep  up  good  spirit  in  the 
camp  and  furnish  material  for  conversation  in  the 
bivouac." 

The  Emperor  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  turned  to 
the  King  of  Bavaria.  "  I  trust  Your  Majesty  has 
found  little  difficulty  in  collecting  your  supplies,"  he 
said. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  diffi- 
culty," said  the  King  of  Bavaria.  "  Your  Majesty 
shall  find,  however,  that  the  difficulties  have  only  in- 
creased my  zeal  for  the  great  cause.  But  sometimes 
I  wish  that,  like  the  generals  of  antiquity,  we  did  not 
have  to  pay  attention  to  magazines." 

"  It  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  generals  of 
antiquity  did  not  pay  particular  attention  to  their 
magazines,"  said  the  Emperor.  "  It  appears  from 
Caesar's  Commentaries  that  in  many  of  his  campaigns 
this  subject  occupied  much  of  his  attention.  They 
had  only  found  out  the  art  of  not  being  slaves  to,  and 
depending  too  much  on,  their  supplies;  an  art  which 
has  been  that  of  all  great  captains, — Hannibal,  Tu- 
renne,  Conde,  Prince  Eugene.  Frederick  in  his  in- 
vasions of  Bohemia  and  Moravia,  in  his  marches  on 
the  Oder  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  and  the  Saale, 
put  into  practice  the  principles  of  these  great  cap- 


218  THE  GRENADIER 

tains.  For  commanders-in-chief  are  guided  by  their 
experience  or  genius;  tactics,  evolutions,  the  science 
of  engineering  and  gunnery,  may  be  learned  in 
treatises  like  geometry;  but  the  knowledge  of  other 
parts  of  war  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  experience  and 
by  studying  the  history  of  the  wars  and  battles  of 
great  leaders." 

"  And  when  did  Your  Majesty  find  time  to  study 
the  campaigns  of  Caesar  and  the  great  Frederick?" 
inquired  the  Austrian  Emperor. 

Napoleon  glanced  at  the  brilliant  crowd  before  him, 
at  the  Kings,  the  sovereign  Princes,  Grand  Dukes 
and  Grand  Electors,  at  the  gold-embroidered  uni- 
forms blazing  with  diamond  stars  and  crosses,  and 
answered  his  Imperial  father-in-law,  "  When  I  was 
sous-lieutenant  in  the  regiment  of  La  Fere." 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN 

No  pitying  voice  commands  a  halt, 
No  courage  can  repel  the  dire  assault; 
Distracted,  spiritless,  benumbed  and  blind, 
Whole  legions  sink — and,  in  one  instant,  find 
Burial  and  death. 

— WORDSWORTH,  The  French  Artny  in  Russia. 

ON  the  24th  of  June,  Napoleon  crossed  the  Niemen 
with  his  Grande  Armee,  four  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  men,  seventy  thousand  horsemen  and  a 
thousand  guns.  And  as  we  see  him  standing  on  the 
bank,  watching  that  mighty  host — French,  Austrians, 
and  Prussians — defiling  before  him  over  the  three 
bridges,  we  may  repeat  the  question  put  three  years 
later  by  the  bluff  von  Bliicher,  when  with  his  muddy 
boots  he  tramped  across  the  Apollo  Gallery  at  Saint 
Cloud  and  looked  about  him:  "Why  should  a  man, 
who  had  all  these  fine  things  at  home,  go  running  off 
to  Moscow?"  Ah!  let  the  grave  historian  answer; 
that  is  his  affair. 

It  was  the  evening  of  December  2oth,  1812,  and  a 
boisterous  evening  it  was.  The  snow  had  been  fall- 
ing since  morning,  and  the  sharp  wind  had  been 
whirling  it  about  in  thin,  white  clouds  and  driving  it 
into  every  chink  and  crevice.  There  were  banks  of 
it  about  the  front  of  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins, 
and  the  banks  kept  growing.  For  every  hour  old 


220  THE  GRENADIER 

La  Barre  would  come  and  shovel  it  off  the  steps, 
throwing  it  to  right  and  to  left,  and  then  he  would 
stamp  his  big  wooden  shoes  and  shake  his  rough 
coat  and  go  in  to  warm  his  wrinkled  hands  by  the 
fire;  for  when  the  mercury  stands  at  four  degrees 
below  zero  and  a  sharp  wind  is  blowing  it  is  more 
pleasant  indoors  than  out  Old  La  Barre  was  a 
harmless  soul,  and  he  had  helped  Philippe  Courteau 
at  the  Trois  Dauphins  for  many  years.  He  was  the 
best  man  in  that  quarter  to  bed  a  horse  or  wash 
windows.  Henri  Jodelle  always  used  to  say,  when 
he  went  to  the  stable  and  saw  La  Barre  bedding  a 
horse,  that  "if  he  were  the  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia 
he  would  have  envied  that  horse." 

So  La  Barre  was  a  useful  soul,  and  being  a  harm- 
less one  he  was  in  nobody's  path,  and  picked  up  many 
an  odd  sou,  which  he  kept  in  a  woollen  sock  in  his 
garret,  until  one  day  the  rats,  being  on  campaign, 
and  cut  off  from  their  base  of  supplies,  and  finding 
the  country  about  them  rather  unproductive,  ate  the 
toe  of  La  Barre's  sock  and  spilled  the  money.  There 
never  was  a  man  so  distressed  as  La  Barre,  for  two 
centimes  rolled  in  a  crack,  where  they  could  not  be 
gotten  out  without  taking  up  the  floor,  and  Philippe 
didn't  want  that.  So  he  gave  La  Barre  two  other 
centimes,  and  also  a  tin  box  for  the  balance  of  his 
money.  La  Barre  got  a  rat-trap  and  put  it  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed,  then  he  got  a  mouse-trap  and  put  it 
at  the  head,  and  then  he  put  the  tin  box  under  one 
end  of  his  pillow.  But  he  was  not  easily  consoled  for 
the  loss  of  those  two  centimes,  and  often  when  he  was 
in  his  room  he  would  light  a  candle  and  place  it  by 
the  crack  and  watch  it  carefully.  No  one  knows 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      221 

what  he  expected  to  see  come  out  of  the  crack,  but 
that  was  what  he  did.  So  La  Barre,  like  the  rest  of 
the  world,  had  his  troubles. 

Philippe  Courteau  and  Henri  Jodelle  were  sitting  in 
Philippe's  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  Trois 
Dauphins.  It  was  a  comfortable  room,  but,  as  might 
be  expected,  there  was  nothing  gaudy  about  it.  The 
log  fire  was  burning  brightly  in  the  fireplace,  and 
nearby  was  a  pile  of  logs  that  La  Barre  had  brought 
in  not  long  before  and  which  were  still  moist  from 
melted  snow.  Philippe  had  stood  some  of  the  short 
ones  up  on  end  about  the  fire  to  dry  thoroughly  before 
he  put  them  on.  There  were  two  pairs  of  Philippe's 
boots  beside  the  fireplace  also,  and  over  it  hung  the 
sabre  of  honor  which  he  had  told  Pierre  he  would  show 
him  when  he  came  to  the  Trois  Dauphins.  But  Pierre 
hadn't  had  time  to  come  when  he  was  getting  mar- 
ried, and  now  he  was  with  the  Grand  Army — at  the 
other  end  of  the  world,  so  Marie  thought,  and  Heaven 
knew  when  she  would  see  him  again,  if  ever.  That 
was  not  a  cheering  thought,  but  there  were  thousands 
in  France  who  had  the  same  about  others  who  were 
charging  the  Russian  guns  at  La  Moscowa.  Under 
the  sabre  of  honor  hung  a  picture  of  the  Little  Cor- 
poral, with  thin  cheeks  and  long  hair — a  copy  of  one 
of  Gros's  or  David's  pictures — and  that  was  the  way 
Philippe  remembered  him,  for  he  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  days  in  Italy  and  Egypt,  when  he  led  them 
with  Victory  at  his  right  hand,  and  Glory  at  his  left 

About  the  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
sat  Philippe  and  Henri.  There  were  two  bottles  of 
wine  on  the  table,  some  cheese  and  a  dozen  slices  of 
thick,  fine  bread.  There  was  also  an  empty  chair  at 


222  THE  GRENADIER 

the  table,  and  that  was  a  sign  that  they  were  expect- 
ing some  one,  for  Philippe  never  put  chairs  about  that 
table  unless  he  expected  to  have  his  friends  there  to 
put  in  them.  The  fire  burned  merrily  and  Philippe 
and  Henri  drank  their  wine.  Presently  La  Barre 
came  in  and  sat  down  to  warm  his  hands. 

"  Is  it  still  snowing?  "  inquired  Philippe. 

"Worse  than  ever,"  said  La  Barre. 

"  The  diligence  will  be  late  to-night,"  said  Philippe. 
"  Stout  Matthieu  will  probably  have  his  ears  frozen, 
and  the  roan  mare  will  be  stiffer  than  ever.  You 
must  fix  her  up  well,  La  Barre." 

"They'll  be  lucky  if  they  come  at  all,"  answered 
La  Barre.  "  They'll  get  blowed  over  in  a  gulley, 
I'm  thinking." 

"Pish!"  said  Henri  Jodelle.  "Matthieu  knows 
the  road  too  well  for  that." 

They  heard  some  one  stamping  and  puffing  in  the 
hall,  and  presently  old  Frederic  Bonneville  put  his 
head  in  at  the  door.  His  hat  and  his  coat  were  cov- 
ered with  snow  and  there  was  snow  on  his  eyebrows 
and  on  his  mustache,  but  that  was  always  white  and 
so  didn't  look  unnatural.  His  cheeks  were  red,  and 
so  was  his  nose — a  nice  bright  red  like  a  ruddy  apple. 
"Dame!"  cried  Frederic,  shaking  himself,  "what 
weather!  I  thought  I  should  never  get  here.  The 
drifts  are  so  deep  that  you  are  up  to  your  knees.  It's 
slow  work  wading  and  my  wind  isn't  what  it  was 
once." 

"  Well,  don't  shake  your  snow  all  over  us,"  said 
Philippe.  "  La  Barre,  take  Frederic's  coat  and  hat." 

Frederic  gave  his  things  to  La  Barre,  who  carried 
them  out  of  the  room,  and  Frederic  coming  before 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      223 

the  fire  stamped  his  feet  and  rubbed  his  hands,  while 
Philippe  brought  out  another  bottle  of  wine.  "Ah! 
that's  the  thing!"  cried  Frederic,  sitting  down  at  the 
table.  "Well,  what's  the  news  from  Paris?" 

"We  don't  know,"  said  Henri  Jodelle.  "We're 
waiting  to  hear.  What  time  does  the  diligence  come, 
Philippe?" 

"At  nine  o'clock,  but  it  won't  be  here  to-night  at 
any  such  hour,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Frederic  Bonneville. 
"  I'm  glad  I'm  not  driving  it  to-night.  I'll  bet  you 
five  francs,  Henri,  that  it  does  not  come  at  all." 

"  Good,"  said  Henri,  "  produce  your  five  francs." 

Frederic  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  Henri  took  five 
francs  from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  also  on  the 
table. 

"Now,"  said  Philippe,  "I'll  bet  you  each  five 
francs  that  it  doesn't  come  before  twelve." 

"  Trts-bien"  said  Henri,  " where  are  your  five 
francs?" 

"I  won't  do  that,"  said  Frederic,  "for  I  have  bet 
it  wouldn't  come  at  all.  If  I  take  your  bet,  I  bet  that 
it  does  come  before  twelve." 

"  Well,  I'll  bet  that  it  comes  at  twelve,  or  later,  and 
you  can  bet  it  won't,"  said  Philippe. 

"  All  right,"  said  Frederic,  and  so  the  twenty  francs 
were  deposited  on  the  table. 

"  Now,  let  us  see,"  said  the  methodical  Frederic, 
"  this  five  francs  says  to  you,  Henri,  that  it  won't 
come  at  all,  and  your  five  francs  says  it  will.  And 
this  five  francs  says  to  you,  Philippe,  that  it  won't 
come  at  twelve,  or  later,  and  yours  says  it  will." 

"  Yes,"  said  Henri,  "  and  my  five  francs  says  to  you, 


224  THE  GRENADIER 

Philippe,  that  it  will  come  before  twelve,  and  yours 
says  it  will  not" 

"  Trts-bien,"  said  Philippe,  "  there's  no  need  for  me 
to  say  what  my  five  francs  say,  for  that's  been  told. 
Come  now,  fill  your  glasses  and  drink  with  me  this 
toast — To  the  success  of  the  Grand  Army!  " 

"  Right,"  said  Henri.  So  the  glasses  were  filled 
and  held  aloft.  Then  they  cried,  "To  the  success  of 
the  Grand  Army ! "  and  emptied  them. 

"  Just  the  same,"  said  Frederic,  "  the  last  news  I 
heard  wasn't  very  good." 

"The  Emperor  has  captured  Moscow,"  cried 
Henri.  "  What  more  do  you  want?  " 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  is  he  going  to  do  now  he 
has  captured  Moscow?"  said  Frederic. 

"Beat  the  Russians!  fool,"  said  Henri. 

"  But  the  damned  Cossacks  run  away  so  fast  that 
our  men  can't  get  at  them,"  said  Frederic.  "  I  was 
talking  to  M.  Montfort  only  yesterday.  He  has  been 
to  Paris  and  every  one  there  looks  glum  enough. 
That  fellow  Malet  made  a  fine  stir.  Why,  Montfort 
told  me  that  his  plan  was  all  made  to  upset  the  gov- 
ernment, and  that  he  actually  had  the  Due  de  Rovigo 
under  arrest  for  several  hours." 

"  Parbleu!  but  what  will  the  Emperor  say  to  that? " 
said  Philippe.  "  There  will  be  trouble  for  somebody." 

"  There's  trouble  enough  now,"  said  Frederic. 
"  Funds  are  way  down  in  Paris,  and  M.  Montfort 
says  there  is  a  rumor  there  that  Moscow  has  been 
burned." 

"  By  whom?  "  said  Henri. 

"  Oh !  nobody  knows ;  probably  by  Russians." 

"  But    the    Russians    have    been    driven    out    of 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      225 

Moscow,"  said  Henri,  "  and  the  Emperor  has  beaten 
them  thoroughly  at  La  Moscowa,  which  was  a 
glorious  victory  for  us.  You  always  imagine  bad 
luck,  Frederic.  You  were  that  way  in  1809;  y°u 
thought  they  would  never  get  back  from  Vienna,  and 
yet  the  Austrian  fools  were  licked  out  of  their  boots. 
Leave  it  to  the  Little  Corporal.  He'll  come  out  all 
right,  never  fear." 

"  Yes,  but  Austria  isn't  Russia,"  said  Frederic ; 
"  and  if  the  weather  there  is  like  this  weather,  I  say — 
God  help  France !  " 

"You're  right,  Frederic,"  said  Philippe  slowly, 
"  Austria  isn't  Russia.  There's  no  one  in  Grenoble 
that  would  stick  by  the  Little  Corporal  more  than  I, 
unless  it's  you,  Henri,  but  I've  never  thought  well  of 
this  Russian  business,  and  God  knows  I  wish  he  were 
back  in  Paris  this  day,  where  he  ought  to  be.  Sacre! 
and  cutting  the  heads  off  those  Malet  people  too." 

"  I  wish  so  too,"  said  Henri,  "  but  we  can't  know 
much  about  anything  till  we  get  news  from  Paris. 
Suppose  we  play  vingt-et-un." 

"  Now  that's  a  good  idea,  Henri,"  said  Frederic. 
"  How  did  you  happen  to  think  of  it?  " 

"  Well,  you  old  white-whiskered  rooster,  you 
needn't  think  you  are  the  only  one  who  has  ideas," 
said  Henri. 

Philippe  produced  the  cards  and,  as  there  was 
hardly  room  on  the  table  for  everything,  he  put  the 
bread  and  cheese  on  the  mantel.  He  left  the  wine, 
however;  they  would  never  have  consented  to  have 
had  that  removed.  Frederic  arranged  the  five-franc 
pieces  carefully  and  placed  the  candle  on  the  side  of 
the  table  and  the  game  began.  The  fire  burned 

15 


226  THE  GRENADIER 

cheerily,  for  La  Barre  came  in  from  time  to  time  and 
put  on  a  log  of  wood. 

"  You  better  open  another  bottle,  La  Barre,"  said 
Philippe  after  a  time.  La  Barre  did  so  and  placed  it 
on  the  table  and  then,  going  out  into  the  kitchen,  he 
cut  himself  a  slice  of  bread  and  a  large  piece  of 
cheese.  Then  he  came  back  and,  sitting  down  before 
the  fire,  stretched  out  his  hands,  as  usual,  to  warm 
them. 

La  Barre  had  the  bread  in  one  hand  and  the 
cheese  in  the  other,  and  he  looked  first  at  the  cheese 
and  then  at  the  bread.  He  decided  to  eat  one  now  and 
take  the  other  up  to  his  room  to  eat  later.  Which 
would  taste  best  first?  La  Barre  thought  the  bread 
and  then  he  thought  the  cheese.  Then  he  remained 
some  time  in  doubt,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 
The  cheese  had  the  most  tempting  look,  but  if  he  ate 
the  cheese  he  would  have  only  the  bread,  which 
would  not  taste  well  without  the  cheese,  and  again, 
the  cheese  might  be  improved  with  the  bread.  La 
Barre  decided  that  they  should  be  eaten  together. 
But  if  he  ate  them  now  he  would  have  nothing  to  eat 
later  in  his  room,  which  he  desired.  He  might  keep 
both  until  later,  but  he  wished  for  some  now,  es- 
pecially since  he  could  no  doubt  have  a  sip  of  wine 
with  which  to  wash  it  down.  La  Barre  was  per- 
plexed. He  held  the  cheese  in  one  hand  and  the 
bread  in  the  other,  and  thought.  The  fire  was  warm, 
it  was  very  late,  and  La  Barre  grew  drowsy.  His 
eyes  gradually  closed,  his  head  nodded  a  little,  his 
fingers  relaxed  and — the  bread  and  cheese  fell  into 
the  fire.  There  never  was  a  man  so  distressed  as 
La  Barrel 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      227 

"What  time  is  that?"  said  Philippe  as  the  clock 
began  to  strike.  They  listened  and  counted  the 
strokes — two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine, 
ten,  eleven,  twelve. 

"  Ah!  "  said  Philippe,  "  I  win  if  it  comes  at  all" 

"  But  it  won't  come  now,"  said  Frederic. 

"Listen!"  said  Philippe. 

"  I  can't  hear  anything,"  said  Frederic.  "  They 
wouldn't  make  any  noise  anyhow  with  all  this  snow." 

Just  then  there  came  a  loud  rapping  at  the  door  of 
the  Trois  Dauphins.  "There  they  are!"  cried 
Philippe.  "La  Barrel" 

But  La  Barre  had  already  trotted  out,  and  was 
soon  opening  the  door. 

"  Well,  Matthieu,"  said  La  Barre,  "  I  was  thinking 
you  was  blowed  over  in  a  gulley." 

"  Mon  Dieu !  I  wonder  I'm  not,"  cried  the  burly 
Matthieu.  "  The  black  horse  broke  a  trace  and  I 
my  lantern,  and  God  knows  how  we  ever  got  on,  for 
the  roan  mare  is  stiff  in  the  knees." 

"  It's  Matthieu's  voice,"  said  Philippe,  "  I  win  from 
you,  Frederic." 

"  I  win,  too,  Frederic,"  said  Henri. 

"  Le  diable! "  cried  Frederic,  "  I  lose  all  around" 

"Have  you  any  passengers,  Matthieu?"  said  La 
Barre  at  the  door. 

"  Passengers?  No!  They  know  better  such  days 
as  these.  I  got  the  mails  and  papers  from  Paris." 

"What  news  from  Paris,  Matthieu?"  cried  Philippe 
coming  to  the  door. 

"  The  worst!"  said  Matthieu.  "The  army's  in  an 
awful  way,  and  what  with  this  and  what  with  that 
we're  all  going  to  the  devil  sooner  or  later.  Dame! 
but  I  can't  talk  now.  It's  victuals  I  want" 


228  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Bring  in  your  bag  and  give  us  the  '  Moniteur ' 
and  then  La  Barre  will  give  you  enough  to  eat  after 
you've  put  up  the  horses,"  said  Philippe. 

Matthieu  brought  in  the  bag  and  handed  Philippe 
the  paper,  and  then  went  to  the  stable  after  La  Barre. 

"  Here,  Henri,"  said  Philippe,  "  you  can  read  best. 
See  what  you  can  find." 

Henri  took  the  paper,  opened  it,  and  sat  down  at 
the  table.  "Here  it  is,"  said  he,  "Twenty-Ninth 
Bulletin,"  and  drawing  the  candle  near  him  he  began 
to  read: 

Stnorgoni,  December  3,  1812. 

Until  the  6th  of  November  the  weather  was  perfect  and 
the  movement  of  the  army  was  carried  out  with  the  greatest 
success.  The  cold  began  on  the  7th;  from  that  time  we  lost 
each  night  many  hundreds  of  horses  which  died  at  the 
bivouac.  Arriving  at  Smolensk  we  had  already  lost  many 
of  the  cavalry  and  artillery  horses.  The  Emperor  arrived  at 
Smolensk  on  the  pth.  He  hoped  to  arrive  at  Minsk,  or  at 
least  upon  the  Beresina,  before  the  enemy.  He  set  out  the 
1 5th  from  Smolensk  and  the  i6th  slept  at  Krasnoe.  The  cold 
which  had  begun  on  the  7th  increased  suddenly,  and  on  the 
I4th,  isth  and  i6th  the  thermometer  marked  16  and  18  de- 
grees below  zero.  The  roads  were  covered  with  ice;  the 
cavalry  and  artillery  horses  perished  every  night,  not  by 
hundreds  but  by  thousands,  especially  the  horses  of  France 
and  Germany.  More  than  thirty  thousand  horses  perished 
in  a  few  days,  and  our  cavalry  was  on  foot.  The  army,  so 
fine  on  the  6th,  was  very  different  on  the  I4th,  almost  with- 
out cavalry,  without  artillery,  without  transports.  Without 
cavalry  we  were  not  able  to  reconnoitre  a  quarter  of  a  league, 
meanwhile  without  artillery  we  were  not  able  to  risk  a 
battle.  It  was  necessary  to  march  not  to  be  forced  to  a 
battle  which  the  want  of  munitions  prevented  us  from  desir- 
ing; it  was  necessary  to  occupy  a  certain  space  not  to  be  out- 
flanked, and  this  without  cavalry  who  should  give  informa- 
tion to  the  columns.  This  difficulty  joined  to  the  sudden 
and  excessive  cold  rendered  our  situation  perilous.  Men 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      229 

whom  nature  had  not  tempered  so  strongly  as  to  be  above 
all  the  chances  of  fortune,  became  disturbed,  lost  their  gaiety, 
their  spirits,  and  dreamt  of  nothing  but  misfortunes  and  dis- 
asters. Those  who  were  superior  to  everything  preserved 
their  gaiety,  their  customary  manners,  and  found  new  glory 
in  the  difficulties  to  be  overcome.  The  enemy,  who  saw 
upon  the  roads  the  traces  of  the  dreadful  calamity  which 
had  come  upon  the  Franch  army,  sought  to  profit  by  it 
They  surrounded  all  the  columns  by  Cossacks,  who  attacked 
like  the  Arabs  in  the  desert.  Meanwhile  the  enemy  occupied 
all  the  passages  of  the  Beresina,  and  their  general  placed 
his  four  divisions  in  different  points  where  he  thought  the 
French  army  would  wish  to  pass.  The  26th  at  daybreak, 
after  having  deceived  the  enemy  by  different  manoeuvres 
made  during  the  day  of  the  25th,  the  Emperor  went  to  the 
village  of  Studzianca  and  immediately  had  two  bridges 
thrown  over  the  river  in  spite  of  a  division  of  the  enemy. 
The  Due  de  Reggio  passed,  attacked  the  enemy  and  con- 
tinued fighting  two  hours.  The  enemy  retreated  to  the 
tete-de-pont  of  Borisow.  General  Legrand,  an  officer  of  the 
first  merit,  was  severely  wounded  but  not  dangerously.  All 
the  day  of  the  26th  and  of  the  27th  the  army  passed.  In  the 
combat  of  the  Beresina  the  Due  de  Reggio  was  wounded. 
The  day  after  we  remained  on  the  field  of  battle.  We  had 
to  choose  between  two  routes,  that  of  Minsk  and  that  of 
Wilna.  The  road  to  Minsk  passed  through  the  midst  of  a 
forest  and  through  untilled  swamps.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  for  the  army  to  support  itself  there.  The  route 
to  Wilna  on  the  other  hand  passed  through  a  very  good 
country.  The  army,  without  cavalry,  weak  in  munitions, 
horribly  fatigued  after  fifty  days  of  marching,  dragging  in 
its  train  its  sick  and  the  wounded  of  so  many  combats,  had 
need  to  arrive  at  its  magazines.  The  3Oth  the  quartier- 
general  was  at  Plechnitsi,  the  ist  of  December  at  Slaiki,  and 
the  3rd  at  Molodetschino,  where  the  army  received  the  first 
convoys  from  Wilna.  All  the  officers  and  wounded  soldiers 
and  the  baggage  have  been  directed  to  Wilna.  To  say  that 
the  army  has  need  to  re-establish  its  discipline,  to  refresh 
itself,  to  remount  its  cavalry,  its  artillery  and  its  materiel, 
that  is  the  necessary  inference  from  the  statement  which  has 
been  made.  Rest  is  its  first  want.  In  all  these  movements 


230  THE  GRENADIER 

the  Emperor  has  marched  always  in  the  midst  of  his  Guard, 
the  cavalry  commanded  by  the  Due  d'Istrie,  the  infantry 
commanded  by  the  Due  de  Dantzick.  Our  cavalry  has  been 
so  totally  destroyed  that  there  was  difficulty  in  collecting 
those  officers  to  whom  a  horse  remained  in  order  to  form 
four  companies  of  150  men  each.  Generals  took  upon  them- 
selves the  functions  of  captains,  colonels  those  of  under- 
officers.  This  sacred  squadron,  commanded  by  General 
Grouchy  under  the  orders  of  the  King  of  Naples,  has  not 
lost  sight  of  the  Emperor  in  all  his  movements.  His  Maj- 
esty's health  was  never  better. 

There  was  silence  for  a  full  half-minute  when  Henri 
finished  reading.  Then  Frederic  Bonneville  said: 

"  Well,  I  told  you  Russia  wasn't  Austria.  '  Leave 
it  to  the  Little  Corporal,'  you  said.  Sacre!  a  fine 
mess  he's  made  of  it.  To  think  of  all  those  losses, 
all  those  soldiers,  all  those  horses,  and  guns,  and 
baggage,  gone  to  the  devil,  and  what's  to  show  for  it? 
Nothing!  And  now  what,  in  God's  name,  will  be- 
come of  France?  There  isn't  a  town  in  France  but 
will  have  widows  and  orphans  howling,  and  where's 
more  men  to  come  from?  And  what  makes  me 
mad!" — and  Frederic  brought  down  his  fist  on  the 
table — "  is  to  think  that  along  with  all  this,  when  all 
these  soldiers  are  dead  and  dying,  and  all  these 
widows  and  orphans  crying  and  howling,  and  all  of 
us  at  our  wit's  end,  and  France  going  to  hell,  he 
sends  us  this  message — '  His  Majesty's  health  was 
never  better.'  Oh!  he  was  well  looked  after,  no 
doubt.  His  Majesty's  health,  indeed!" 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute, 
then  Philippe  said :  "  No,  Frederic,  that  isn't  it. 
There's  much  to  be  said  about  this  going  to  Moscow, 
but  that's  done.  He's  gone,  and  he's  had  hard  luck, 


THE  TWENTY-NINTH  BULLETIN      231 

and  he's  stood  by  us,  and  now  we've  got  to  stand  by 
him.  He  hasn't  spared  himself.  I  know  how  it  was 
in  Syria  and  I'll  bet  it  was  the  same  in  Russia — the 
carriages  and  horses  for  the  wounded  and  the  Little 
Corporal  on  foot  And  now  mark  my  words. 
They'll  all  come,  Russia,  and  Austria,  and  Prussia, 
and  England,  and  who's  to  stop  them?  Not  you, 
Frederic,  nor  Henri,  nor  me,  nor  the  King  of 
Naples,  nor  the  Due  de  Reggio,  nor  the  Prince  of 
Neufchatel,  nor  anybody  else,  but  only  he — the  Little 
Corporal — who  can  and  will!  And  so  he  says  to  us 
— People  of  France,  your  Little  Corporal  has  had 
hard  luck,  and  they've  tried  to  down  him,  but  they 
can't.  Keep  up  your  courage,  your  Little  Corporal 
is  in  the  fight  yet,  and  his  eye  is  as  bright  as  it  was 
at  Marengo,  and  his  head  is  as  clear  as  it  was  at 
Austerlitz,  and  what  he  was  then  he'll  be  yet! — 
k  conquer  ant  tou  jours!" 

"That's  it!  that's  it!"  cried  Henri  Jodelle.  "I 
didn't  see  it  at  first,  but  that's  it.  They'll  all  come 
now.  Well,  let  them  come.  They'll  find  France 
ready  and  they'll  find  the  Emperor  ready,  and  His 
Majesty's  health — thank  God! — was  never  better. 
Join  me  now  in  a  toast.  Come,  Frederic,  come, 
Frederic!  To  the  health  of  His  Majesty!  Frederic! 
Vive  1'Empereur!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  LION  AT  BAY 

And  dar'st  thou  then 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den? 

— SCOTT,  Marmion. 

IT  was  the  month  of  January,  1814.  The  year  just 
past  had  been  one  of  victory  and  disaster.  The  bat- 
tles of  Lutzen,  Bautzen,  and  Dresden  had  again  as- 
serted the  supremacy  of  the  French  Emperor's  arms, 
but  the  disasters  at  Leipzig  had  rendered  Lutzen, 
Bautzen,  and  Dresden  of  no  avail.  Bavaria  had 
deserted  France  in  her  hour  of  need,  Germany  had 
thrown  off  the  yoke,  and  Austria  her  neutrality,  and, 
as  von  Sybel  puts  it,  "  Die  Erhebung  Europas  gegen 
Napoleon  "  had  begun. 

Sergeant  Pasquin  had  undergone  much  during  the 
past  two  years,  but,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  his  for- 
tunes seemed  to  rise  as  those  of  his  Imperial  master 
appeared  more  and  more  to  decline.  At  La  Mos- 
cowa,  where  with  Andre  Marceau  he  captured  a 
Russian  standard,  Pierre  was  made  sergeant-major, 
and  in  that  capacity  entered  Moscow.  At  the  close 
of  the  Russian  campaign  he  was  appointed  sous- 
lieutenant,  and  during  the  campaign  of  1813  in  Ger- 
many he  rose  two  steps  higher,  being  made  lieutenant 
at  Bautzen  on  the  22nd  of  May,  and  captain  at  Dres- 
den on  the  26th  of  August. 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  233 

But,  says  the  inquisitive  reader,  let  us  see  about  all 
this.  Tell  us  about  these  campaigns,  and  let  us  judge 
whether  in  three  years  Sergeant  Pasquin  should  have 
become  Captain  Pasquin  or  not  Good  reader,  this 
story  is  in  one  volume,  not  a  dozen.  Were  it  in  a 
dozen  there  would  be  room  to  tell  you  of  all  these 
battles — Smolensk,  Witepsk,  La  Moscowa,  the  Bere- 
sina,  Lutzen,  Bautzen,  Wurtchen,  Dresden,  Leipzig, 
Hanau,  but  after  a  while  you  shall  see  the  certificate 
of  the  Garde  Municipale  de  Grenoble,  which  states  that 
these  honors  came  to  him  just  as  you  have  been  told; 
and  as  to  whether  he  should  have  had  them  or  not — 
well,  you  will  have  to  leave  that  to  the  one  who  gave 
them  to  him,  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 

So  at  the  beginning  of  this  year  1814  Pierre  Pas- 
quin, ci-devant  sergeant,  has  become  Captain  Pierre 
Pasquin  of  the  Garde  Imperiale. 

On  the  25th  of  January,  Napoleon  set  out  to  join 
the  army,  this  time  not  to  lead  them  to  Berlin,  or 
Madrid,  or  Vienna,  or  Moscow;  not  to  fight  on  the 
banks  of  the  Danube,  the  Elbe  or  the  Rhine;  but 
to  defend  France,  invested,  inroaded,  invaded;  to  pre- 
vent the  Austrians,  the  Cossacks,  and  the  Prussians 
from  riding  in  triumph  down  the  Avenue  des  Champs 
Elysees.  But  before  leaving  Paris  he  said  two  things, 
and  this  is  one  of  them:  "  J'appelle  les  Francois  au 
secours  des  Franqais "  ("  I  call  the  Frencji  to  the 
succor  of  the  French  ") ;  and  this  is  the  other :  "  I 
shall  conduct  this  campaign  as  General  Bonaparte." 

Along  the  Marne  and  Seine  the  armies  of  Silesia 
and  Bohemia  were  advancing;  the  former  com- 
manded by  the  Prussian  Blucher,  the  latter  by  the 
Austrian  Schwartzenberg.  On  the  2/th  of  January 


234  THE  GRENADIER 

the  Emperor  met  the  Prussians  at  St.  Dizier.  It  was 
a  furious  battle.  When  the  enemy  had  been  repulsed 
and  the  French  marched  through  the  town,  Pierre 
counted  thousands  of  bullets  in  the  doors  and  shut- 
ters of  the  windows,  and  as  for  the  trees  they  were 
cut  to  pieces.  The  army  of  Silesia  fell  back  to  the 
heights  of  Brienne  and  took  up  position  there.  From 
this  situation  they  received  the  French  with  a  heavy 
artillery  fire,  which  seemed  to  render  useless  the 
efforts  of  the  Emperor's  soldiers.  To  the  right  of  the 
road  was  a  redoubt  defended  by  eight  hundred  men 
and  four  pieces  of  cannon,  which  cut  the  ranks  of  the 
French  as  they  advanced  to  the  attack.  The  Em- 
peror, who  was  on  his  horse  near  a  garden,  sent  for 
the  Captain  Francois  Legrand  with  a  company  of 
grenadiers  of  the  Guard,  and  when  "  le  grand  diable  " 
presented  himself  His  Majesty  remarked,  "What 
have  you  in  your  cheek?" 

"  My  quid,  sire." 

"  Ah!  you  chew  tobacco?  " 

"Yes,  sire." 

"  Take  your  company  and  go  and  take  that  redoubt 
which  is  doing  me  so  much  harm." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  sire." 

They  set  off  by  the  right  flank  on  the  double,  and 
when  they  were  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  barrier 
of  the  redoubt  Frangois  halted  them.  Then  he  ran 
alone  to  the  barrier.  There  was  an  officer  there  hold- 
ing the  bar  of  the  gates.  Seeing  Frangois  advancing 
alone,  he  may  have  thought  that  he  was  going  to 
surrender,  or  he  may  have  thought  something  quite 
different;  but  he  had  very  little  time  to  think  of  any- 
thing, for  Frangois  ran  that  great  sabre  of  his  clear 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  235 

through  him,  and  opening  the  gates  he  shouted,  "  En 
avantl" 

Did  they  come?  They  came  in  just  three  leaps! 
And  the  Emperor,  who  had  watched  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding through  his  glass,  said,  "The  redoubt  is 
taken." 

Again  and  again  the  French  charged,  but  the 
ground  had  become  cut  up  by  constant  manoeuvring 
and  it  seemed  as  though  they  could  make  little  head- 
way. Night  was  coming  on.  "  I  must  put  an  end 
to  this  business,"  said  the  Emperor.  "  I  am  going 
to  sleep  to-night  in  the  chateau  of  Brienne." 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and,  galloping  out  be- 
fore the  first  line,  pulled  up  before  the  central  regi- 
ment. "  Soldiers,"  said  he,  pointing  with  his  hand 
toward  the  slope  and  Prussian  batteries,  "  I  am  your 
colonel.  I  shall  lead  you.  Brienne  must  be  taken." 

There  was  one  great  shout  of  "  Vive  TEmpereur! " 
and  then  no  more  breath  was  wasted.  They  closed 
their  ranks,  they  set  their  teeth  and  they  pushed  on — 
on  past  the  staff,  on  past  the  Emperor,  up  the  slope 
into  the  main  street  of  Brienne,  driving  back  the  Rus- 
sians, charging  into  Bliicher's  staff,  capturing  the 
nephew  of  the  Prussian  Chancellor  de  Hardenberg, 
and  on  past  the  chateau  of  Brienne — the  Russians 
and  Prussians  flying  before  them  even  to  Mezieres. 
How  was  it  done?  Even  as  the  simple  chronicler  of 
the  event  has  told  us.  The  Imperial  word  was 
spoken.  "  Each  soldier  became  equal  to  four." 

On  the  3 1st  of  January  the  Prussians  advanced 
again  to  the  field  of  La  Rothiere  near  Brienne — that 
field  of  La  Rothiere  upon  which  the  young  Bona- 
parte had  drilled  and  played  in  his  school  days  at 


236  THE  GRENADIER 

Brienne,  and  upon  which  he  now  stood,  with  twenty 
thousand  French  soldiers  about  him  and  eighty 
thousand  Russians  and  Prussians  before  him,  fighting 
in  the  death-struggle  of  his  Empire. 

The  combat  at  La  Rothiere  was  disastrous  to  the 
French,  and  the  Emperor  was  compelled  to  fall  back 
on  Troyes.  So  the  month  of  February  began,  and 
gloomily  enough.  The  French  Emperor  had  been 
forced  to  retreat  after  a  pitched  battle,  and  the  two 
immense  allied  armies,  advancing  along  the  Marne 
and  the  Seine,  had  almost  united.  Could  they  be 
stopped  now  upon  their  triumphal  march  to  Paris? 

Every  one  said,  "  It  is  impossible."  Impossible, 
gentlemen?  "  Ce  mot  n'est  pas  Francois,"  General 
Bonaparte  had  cried  in  the  early  days,  and  it  is 
General  Bonaparte  who  leads  you  now. 

And  so,  on  the  morning  of  the  Qth  of  February, 
the  Due  de  Bassano,  coming  into  the  Emperor's 
headquarters  to  bring  the  dispatches  which  had  been 
drawn  up  during  the  night  to  urge  forward  the  peace 
negotiations  at  Chatillon,  found  the  Emperor  lying  on 
his  maps  and  planning  with  his  colored  pins. 

"  Ah !  it  is  you !  "  cried  the  Emperor.  "  There  is 
no  more  question  of  that.  See  here,  I  want  to  thrash 
Blucher;  he  has  taken  the  Montmirail  road.  I  shall 
fight  him  to-morrow  and  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
The  face  of  affairs  is  about  to  change  and  we  shall 
see.  We  won't  precipitate  anything;  there  will 
always  be  time  enough  to  conclude  such  a  peace  as 
they  propose  to  us." 

An  hour  later  the  Emperor  was  on  the  march  to 
Sezanne.  En  avant!  soldats  des  Frangais!  The  lion 
has  been  crouching;  he  is  roaring  now! 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  237 

On  the  loth  of  February  the  Emperor  beat  the 
Russians  at  Champaubert,  on  the  nth  he  routed  the 
Prussians  at  Montmirail,  on  the  I2th  he  beat  them 
again  at  Chateau-Thierry,  and  on  the  I4th  he  worsted 
Bliicher  at  Vauchamps.  Thus  in  five  days  the  army 
of  Silesia,  advancing  proudly  along  the  Marne,  was 
sent  to  the  right-about,  leaving  five  generals,  four 
flags,  68  cannon,  and  28,000  men  in  the  hands  of  the 
conqueror.  Messieurs  les  Prussiens,  it  is  a  hard  road 
to  travel — this  road  to  Paris! 

Now  for  the  Austrians,  advancing  by  Nogent, 
Bray,  and  Montereau  to  Nangis,  commanded  by  von 
Schwartzenberg.  On  the  i8th  of  Febmary  the  Em- 
peror drove  them  back  at  Montereau  and,  entering 
Troyes  in  triumph  on  the  24th,  sent  off  to  Paris 
fourteen  flags — one  Austrian,  four  Prussian  and  nine 
Russian.  Messieurs  les  Autrichiens,  les  Prussiens  et 
les  Russes,  it  is  a  hard  road  to  travel — this  road  to 
Paris! 

Now  for  the  Prussians  again,  who,  led  by  Bliicher, 
were  descending  the  Marne  toward  Meaux.  So  the 
Emperor  left  the  army  corps  of  Oudinot  and  Mac- 
donald  to  hold  the  Austrians  in  check,  and  advanced 
again,  with  diminished  numbers  but  with  undimin- 
ished  sang-froid,  to  meet  the  Prussians,  and  reached, 
toward  evening,  the  little  village  of  Herbisse. 

A  learned  man  was  Monsieur  Valentine,  the  cure 
of  Herbisse,  and  his  house — the  presbytery — a  modest 
structure  containing  one  apartment  which  Monsieur 
le  cure  used  as  kitchen,  salon,  dining-room  and  bed- 
chamber, and  which  had  adjoining  it  a  bake-house. 
On  the  evening  before  mentioned,  M.  Valentine  was 
seated  in  his  apartment  of  many  uses,  toasting  his 


238  THE  GRENADIER 

toes  by  the  fire,  while  his  niece,  the  black-eyed  Hen- 
riette,  was  cutting  a  pie  in  the  bake-house.  The  can- 
dle on  the  table  was  lighted  and  supper  was  ready, 
and  when  the  fair  Henriette  had  finished  cutting  the 
pie,  she  would  bring  it  in  and  they  would  have  supper. 
Then  M.  le  cure  would  smoke  his  pipe,  or  read  his 
breviary  until  he  grew  drowsy,  and  Mile.  Henriette 
would  wash  the  dishes  and  go  to  her  small  room  over 
the  bake-house.  And,  finally,  M.  le  cure,  divested  of 
his  cassock,  would  snore  loudly  in  his  bed  in  the 
apartment  of  many  uses.  Such  had  been  the  life  for 
many  evenings  at  the  presbytery  of  Herbisse — such 
no  doubt  it  would  be  to-night  But  before  Mile. 
Henriette  had  finished  the  delicate  operation  pre- 
viously alluded  to,  a  great  noise  of  galloping  horses 
was  heard  in  the  village  of  Herbisse.  Nearer  they 
came  and  stopped  with  a  tumult  unprecedented  before 
the  presbytery  door.  Imagine  then  the  surprise  of 
the  worthy  Valentine  when,  upon  going  hastily  to 
the  door  of  his  apartment,  he  found  himself  vis-a-vis 
to  His  Majesty  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  behind 
whom  were  Marshals,  aides-de-camp  and  orderly- 
officers,  a  seemingly  endless  crowd. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  His  Majesty,  "  we  have 
come  to  ask  your  hospitality  for  one  night.  Don't  let 
this  visit  alarm  you.  We  will  make  ourselves  very 
small  so  as  not  to  crowd  you." 

M.  Valentine,  "  perspiring  with  mingled  eager- 
ness and  embarrassment,"  conducted  the  Emperor 
into  the  apartment  of  many  uses.  The  supper- 
dishes  were  pushed  away.  His  Majesty  threw 
his  hat  and  sword  on  the  table.  The  attend- 
ants brought  his  maps  and  papers,  the  door 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  239 

was  closed,  and  in  five  minutes  the  Emperor  was 
busily  at  work  planning  his  march  against  von 
Bliicher.  The  staff  went  into  the  bake-house,  for  on 
campaign  it  was  always  loge-qui-peut.  Well,  the 
bustling  and  going  and  coming  and  running  to  and 
fro  of  M.  Valentine  and  Mile.  Henriette!  It  would 
have  made  a  sluggard  active.  Chairs  were  gotten 
for  the  Marshals,  and  as  for  the  aides-de-camp  they 
sat  on  the  table,  the  window-sills  and  the  floor.  Then 
nothing  would  do  but  that  Mile.  Henriette  should 
sing  them  a  song.  So  Mile,  made  her  best  courtesy 
and  sang  them  some  verses  of  Chenier's  "  Le  Chant 
du  Depart,"  which  begins  thus: 

"  La  victoire,  en  chantant, 
Nous  ouvre  la  carriere; 
La  liberte  guide  nos  pas; 
Et  du  nord  au  tnidi  la 
Trompette  guerriere 
A  sonne  1'heure  des  combats!" 

And  she  would  have  received  a  round  of  applause  that 
no  doubt  would  have  cracked  the  bake-house  win- 
dows, had  they  not  feared  to  disturb  the  Emperor. 
Then  M.  Valentine,  rosy  with  joy  and  perspiration, 
came  in,  bringing  the  best  bottles  from  his  cellar. 

"  Pax  vobiscum !  M.  le  cure,"  cried  the  jolly 
Lefebvre.  "  I  studied  for  the  priesthood  myself  in 
my  young  days,  but  mille  tonnerres!  I've  kept  little  of 
all  that  but  the  coiffure." 

"  And  why  did  you  keep  that,  Monseigneur?  "  in- 
quired M.  Valentine. 

"  Because  it  was  the  soonest  combed,"  said  the 
chuckling  Lefebvre.  The  cure  laughed.  "  Don't 


240  THE  GRENADIER 

imagine  I  have  forgotten  everything,  however,"  con- 
tinued the  Marshal.  "  You  shall  see.  I  will  quote 
some  Virgil  for  you: 

"  Tityre  tu  patulae — parbleu ! — sub  tegmine  fagi, 
Recubans — deus    ex    machina — quid    pro    quo — sacre! — ad 
finem." 

--3 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  in  which  the  worthy 
cure  joined.  "  Monseigneur,"  said  he,  "  if  you  had 
continued  your  studies  for  the  priesthood  you  would 
have  become  a  cardinal  at  the  least." 

"  Dame !  I  confess  my  Latin  is  a  bit  rusty,"  said  the 
Marshal,  "  but  gentlemen  " — and  he  looked  toward 
the  laughing  aides-de-camp — "  there  is  one  expres- 
sion I  haven't  forgotten.  It  is  this — Dulce  et 
decorum  est  pro  patria  mori — and  by  God's  name 
that's  what  we've  got  to  do  now  with  the  Cossacks 
only  twenty  leagues  from  Paris!" 

"Bah!  Monseigneur,"  cried  the  aide-de-camp  Le- 
tort,  "  we  shall  chase  them  back." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Marshal,  setting  his  teeth,  "  we 
shall  see  if  they  come." 

At  this  moment  the  canteen  mules  arrived.  A  long 
table  was  made  by  placing  a  door  on  four  casks.  The 
Marshals  sat  down  while  the  aides-de-camp  ate  stand- 
ing. The  worthy  Valentine  placed  upon  the  table  his 
bottles  of  cherished  wine,  and  was  quite  overcome 
with  surprise  and  delight  at  hearing  the  good-natured 
Lefebvre  say,  "  Come,  M.  le  cure,  sit  down  here  and 
take  pot-luck  with  us." 

Imagine  then  the  worthy  Valentine,  sitting  in  his 
bake-house  at  the  table  of  boards  and  casks,  with 
Marshal  Lefebvre,  Duke  of  Dantzig,  on  his  right,  and 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  241 

Marshal  Ney,  Prince  of  the  Moscowa,  on  his  left,  and 
opposite  him  the  Marshal  Berthier,  Prince  of  Neuf- 
chatel  and  Wagram,  while  in  a  semicircle  about  the 
table  stood  the  Imperial  aides-de-camp,  booted, 
spurred,  embroidered,  laced  and  plumed.  Surely  the 
star  of  Valentine  was  in  the  ascendant.  The  worthy 
cure  felt  himself  enrolled  among  the  gods. 

Smile  on,  joyous  Valentine!  You  are  the  lucky 
one  in  that  party.  In  little  more  than  a  year  he  who 
sits  at  your  left,  Ney,  Marshal  of  France,  Duke  of 
Elchingen  and  Prince  of  the  Moscowa,  will  have  been 
shot  like  a  common  malefactor.  And  he  who  sits  op- 
posite you,  Berthier,  Marshal  of  France  and  Prince  of 
Neufchatel  and  Wagram,  will  have  committed  suicide; 
and  many  of  those  high-spirited  aides-de-camp  about 
you  will  have  laid  down  their  lives  at  Mont  St.  Jean; 
and  he — the  great  one — who  sits  yonder  in  your  apart- 
ment of  many  uses,  will  have  become  England's  cap- 
tive, and  the  Empire  with  its  crowns  and  its  thrones, 
its  stars  and  its  cresses,  will  have  faded  like  a  dream — 
but  you  will  still  retain  your  presbytery  of  Herbisse ! 

And,  when  the  supper  was  finished,  some  straw 
was  found  in  the  barns  nearby  and  each  one  made  his 
couch  for  the  night  The  cure  had  also  his  bundle  of 
straw,  and  after  the  excitement  of  the  evening,  he 
slept  so  well  that  he  was  still  snoring  when,  at  day- 
break, the  Emperor  and  his  staff  departed  to  pursue 
the  Prussians.  Great  was  the  mortification  of  M. 
Valentine,  cure  of  Herbisse,  when  he  awoke  and 
found  them  gone,  but  when  he  went  again  into  his 
apartment  of  many  uses  he  saw  upon  his  table  the 
purse  of  gold — the  souvenir  left  in  every  peasant's 
hut  in  Europe  upon  whose  pillow  had  rested  the  Im- 
perial brow. 

16 


242  THE  GRENADIER 

The  next  four  weeks  were  hard  ones  for  the  Im- 
perial Guard.  On  the  28th  of  February  there  was  a 
battle  at  Sezanne.  Then  they  pushed  on  to  La  Ferte- 
sous-Jouarre,  where  to  his  delight  the  Emperor  saw 
the  Prussians  retreating  toward  Soissons.  Bliicher 
was  now  in  a  perilous  position,  the  Aisne  before  him, 
the  Marne  behind  him,  Marmont  and  Mortier  on  his 
left  and  Napoleon  on  his  right.  The  grenadiers  said, 
"We  have  got  that  old  fighter."  And  they  pressed 
on,  but,  all  at  once,  on  the  3rd  of  March,  Soissons 
surrendered,  and  Bliicher  made  good  his  escape  across 
the  Aisne.  Fancy  the  rage  of  the  Imperial  Guard 
after  their  days  and  nights  of  toil,  fighting,  and  march- 
ing! Pierre  and  Francois  Legrand  were  in  such  a 
temper  that  they  forgot  to  eat  their  soup.  "  No 
matter,"  said  Francois,  "we  will  have  them  yet." 
The  pursuit  was  ordered,  and  on  the  7th  of  March 
they  met  the  Prussians  at  Craonne,  but  Bliicher  had 
been  reinforced  by  Biilow  and  Wintzingerode — it  was 
100,000  to  30,000  now. 

No  one  stopped  to  think  of  that,  however,  and  when 
the  Imperial  Grenadiers  were  ordered  to  storm  the 
heights  of  Craonne  they  did  it  with  a  will.  Captain 
Pasquin  had  his  plume  and  scabbard  shot  away,  but  he 
fought  so  hard  that  he  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  there 
were  many  more  who  did  likewise.  Bliicher  fell  back, 
sullen  but  not  defeated.  Then  the  same  thing  was 
repeated  at  Laon  on  the  Qth  and  loth  of  March.  The 
same  display  of  valor,  the  same  impetuous  onset,  the 
same  bloody  losses,  but  this  time  the  Emperor  was 
forced  to  retreat,  conquered  by  numbers,  leaving  a 
fourth  of  his  army  dead  at  Laon  and  Craonne. 

So  they  came  to  Rheims,  and  found  it  occupied  by 
the  Russians  entrenched  behind  redoubts  of  casks  and 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  243 

rubbish.  Near  the  gate  to  Paris,  on  a  level  piece  of 
ground  upon  which  stood  a  windmill,  the  Guard  built 
a  fire,  and  the  Emperor  stretched  himself  near  it  on 
his  bearskin,  for  he  was  very  tired.  It  was  the  I3th  of 
March  and  ten  at  night  Suddenly  the  Russians  made 
a  sortie,  firing  musketry  on  the  left.  The  Emperor 
jumped  up  from  his  bearskin. 

"  What  is  that?  "  he  cried  furiously. 

"  it  is  a  '  hurrah,'  sire,"  said  the  aide-de-camp  Le- 
tort. 

"  I  will  see  about  that,"  said  the  Emperor.  "  Bring 
me  Captain  Reubelle  and  Captain  Pasquin."  They 
were  not  long  in  coming. 

"  You,"  said  he  to  Reubelle,  "  bring  your  pieces  and 
fire  on  those  gates,  and  you,  Pasquin,  be  ready  to  enter 
the  city.  I  must  be  in  Rheims  by  midnight.  You 
are  fools  if  you  do  not  go  through  those  gates." 

"  We  will  go  through  them,  sire." 

The  battery  was  brought  up  and  the  shells  fell  in 
the  centre  of  the  city.  The  cuirassiers  of  the  Guard, 
meanwhile,  were  drawn  up  behind  the  guns,  prepared 
to  charge  with  the  grenadiers.  The  Emperor  ordered 
the  firing  to  cease,  then  he  gave  the  signal.  The 
trumpets  sounded,  Pierre  shouted  "Forward!"  and 
they  went,  carrying  all  before  them. 

The  cuirassiers  dashed  through  the  Rue  de  Vesle 
and  the  Rue  Libergier,  sabring  right  and  left,  while 
the  grenadiers  followed  with  their  bayonets.  The 
people  of  Rheims,  shut  up  in  their  houses,  hearing  the 
tumult,  lighted  their  windows,  and  Rheims  was  illu- 
minated on  all  sides.  By  midnight  the  Emperor  was 
in  the  city  and  the  Russians  were  routed.  They  had 
found  their  "  hurrah  "  a  costly  one.  But  it  could  not 
go  on  for  ever,  this  rushing  from  the  valley  of  the 


244  THE  GRENADIER 

Marne  to  the  valley  of  the  Seine  and  from  the  valley  of 
the  Seine  to  the  valley  of  the  Marne,  this  fighting 
Bliicher  one  day  and  Wintzingerode  another,  and  Bil- 
low another,  and  Schwartzenberg  another.  The  French 
forces  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and  the  enormous 
masses  of  the  enemy  advanced  nearer  and  nearer  to 
Paris — advanced  slowly,  though,  and  cautiously — so 
cautiously! — for,  though  they  outnumbered  ten  to  one 
the  forces  of  their  foe,  they  trembled  lest  at  an  unex- 
pected moment  they  might  see  upon  the  brow  of  some 
hill  the  eagle  of  France,  the  caps  of  the  Guard,  and  the 
terrifying  cocked  hat  and  greatcoat  of  the  Little  Cor- 
poral. 

Then  the  Emperor  prepared  his  coup  de  maitre  and 
determined  to  march  en  St.  Dizier,  leaving  Paris  tem- 
porarily exposed;  determined  to  rally  his  garrisons  in 
the  fortresses  of  Lorraine  and  Alsace,  to  join  Auge- 
reau  advancing  from  the  south,  to  cut  the  enemy's 
lines  of  communication,  and  being  in  their  rear  with 
150,000  men,  compel  them  in  self-defense  to  wheel 
about  and  give  him  battle. 

He  set  out,  and  his  columns  disappeared  beyond 
Vitry-sur-Marne.  And  then,  while  the  Allies,  aston- 
ished by  the  boldness  of  this  manoeuvre,  paused  in 
surprise,  hesitating  between  a  further  advance  or  a  pre- 
cipitate retreat,  there  came  to  the  allied  headquarters 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Vitrolles,  bearing  from  the 
Prince  de  Talleyrand — head,  shoulders,  body,  legs  and 
arms  of  the  plotters  in  Paris — this  message :  "  You  may 
do  everything  and  you  dare  do  nothing.  For  once  then 
be  daring."  And  when  this  assurance  was  given  them, 
Messieurs  les  Puissances  Alliees  tightened  their  sword- 
belts,  adjusted  their  plumes,  counted  their  numbers, 
and  casting  one  frightened  glance  behind  them, 


THE  LION  AT  BAY  245 

sounded  their  trumpets  and  gave  the  word — "  To 
Paris!" 

On  the  28th  of  March  at  St.  Dizier  the  Emperor 
learned  that  he  was  not  followed  by  the  army  of 
Schwartzenberg  but  by  the  corps  of  Wintzingerode. 
and  more — the  Allies  were  marching  on  Paris. 
Would  it  hold  out  until  he  could  arrive?  "  Let  us 
march !  Let  us  march ! "  And  so  by  St  Dizier, 
Vitry-sur-Marne  and  Doulencourt,  on  in  breathless 
haste  to  Troyes,  where  they  arrived  in  the  night,  the 
panting  grenadiers  of  the  Imperial  Guard  having 
marched  forty  miles  in  one  day.  But  no  stop  here — 
on !  on !  If  the  grenadiers  can  do  no  more,  on  with  the 
cuirassiers!  And  so  the  Emperor  hastened  on,  his 
traveling-carriage  rattling  over  the  stones.  But  ere 
long  the  wearied  cuirassiers  could  no  longer  keep  pace 
with  him,  and  he  pushed  on  with  only  Caulaincourt 
and  Berthier  in  his  carriage.  At  every  post-house  he 
sent  off  couriers  to  announce  his  approach,  at  every 
post-house  he  learned  news  more  and  more  disastrous. 
The  Empress  with  the  King  of  Rome  had  quitted 
Paris,  and  Joseph,  after  issuing  proclamations  very 
like  the  English  skit  of  the  period — 

' '  Brave  lads  of  Paris  !  never  fear, 
Though  Bliicher's  force  be  drawing  near  ; 
I,  Joseph  Buonaparte,  am  here." 

Joseph  had  run  off  too!  The  enemy  were  before  the 
walls ! — they  were  at  the  gates ! — there  was  fighting  on 
the  heights! 

The  traveling-carriage  was  abandoned,  and  spring- 
ing into  a  light  post-caleche,  with  Berthier  and  Cau- 
laincourt, the  Emperor  dashed  on.  "  Faster!  faster!  " 
he  cried.  The  postillions  plied  the  whip  and  spur,  the 


246  THE  GRENADIER 

horses  galloped  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  foaming 
mouths,  the  caleche  swayed  from  side  to  side,  the 
wheels  struck  fire  from  the  pavements,  but  above  the 
whirling  of  the  wheels,  the  shouts  of  the  postillions, 
the  galloping  hoofs  and  the  cracking  whips  was  heard 
the  Imperial  voice  crying  ever  "  Faster!  faster!  faster! " 

And  so,  at  ten  at  night  on  the  3Oth  of  March,  cov- 
ered with  dust  and  foam,  panting,  trembling,  terrified, 
hoping,  doubting,  mad  with  impatience,  they  dashed 
into  Fromenteau,  five  leagues  from  Paris,  and  pulled 
up  before  the  Cour  de  France  to  change  horses.  Up 
and  down  in  the  darkness  strode  the  Emperor,  count- 
ing the  seconds  till  his  horses  should  be  put  in.  Then 
some  straggling  soldiers  passing  in  the  gloom  shouted, 
"  Paris  has  capitulated ! " 

"  These  men  are  mad!  "  cried  the  Emperor.  "  The 
thing  is  impossible !  My  carriage !  my  carriage !  " 

Too  late!  Napoleon.  The  Czar  of  all  the  Russias, 
lighted  by  the  flames  of  Moscow,  has  found  his  way 
to  the  doors  of  the  Tuileries  Palace. 

So  ended  the  campaign  of  France.  Nothing  like  it 
had  been  seen  before.  Nothing  like  it  is  likely  to  be 
seen  again.  In  the  hour  of  disaster  the  World-Con- 
queror disappears.  There  remains  only  the  Champion 
of  France,  who  might  have  saved  his  crown  had  he 
signed  away  her  territory  or  her  greatness. 

"Peace  at  any  price!"  cried  all  about  him — his 
ministers,  his  brothers,  his  marshals  and  his  friends. 
"  Sign !  "  cried  the  Allies,  "  and  retain  your  crown." 

What!  sign  a  treaty  that  stripped  France  of  prov- 
inces on  every  hand  and  left  her  less  great  than  he 
found  her?  No!  he  would  have  none  of  it  And  so 
he  fell — game  to  the  last — le  Frangais  des  Franfais 
battling  pour  la  belle  Francel 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
LES  ADIEUX  DE  FONTAINEBLEAU 

Twas  thus  that  Napoleon  left  us; 

Our  people  were  weeping  and  mute, 
As  he  passed  through  the  lines  of  his  Guard, 

And  our  drums  beat  the  notes  of  salute. 

—THACKERAY,  The  Chronicle  of  the  Drum. 

"  MARCH  ! "  said  General  Petit,  and  the  grenadiers  of 
the  Imperial  Guard  advanced  across  the  palace  park, 
through  the  great  gates,  into  the  Cour  du  Cheval 
Blanc  and  on  to  the  foot  of  the  Horseshoe  Staircase. 

"Halt!"  said  General  Petit.  There  they  stood 
motionless,  those  great  grenadiers — those  veterans 
who  had  faced  the  cannon  in  the  marshes  of  Arcole, 
who  had  battled  at  the  pyramids  while  "  forty  centu- 
ries looked  down  upon  them,"  who  had  climbed  the 
wall  of  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  who  had  charged  the  Austrian 
centre  on  Marengo's  plain,  who  had  seen  the  sun  rise 
on  the  heights  of  Austerlitz,  who  had  fought  with  fire 
in  the  streets  of  Moscow.  There  they  stood,  hun- 
dreds of  statues  made  of  bronze  and  crowned  with 
laurel.  To  reproduce  them,  France  must  have  had 
again  a  twenty  years  of  victory.  The  light  breeze 
gently  waved  their  plumes;  the  horses  that  stood  har- 
nessed to  the  carriage  near  the  great  curved  staircase 
champed  their  bits.  Thus  they  waited. 

How  many  Kings  and  mighty  men  of  France  had 
gone  up  and  down  that  Horseshoe  Staircase  1  How 


248  THE  GRENADIER 

many  Queens  and  gilded  favorites  had  swept  trium- 
phant through  that  courtyard!  Francis  the  First, 
doing  the  honors  to  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth; 
Catherine  of  Medici,  and  by  her  side  her  craven  son, 
planning  the  Bartholomew;  Henry  of  Navarre,  with 
his  white  plume  of  Ivry  and  his  "  charmante 
Gabrielle";  Louis  XIII  and  his  scarlet-robed  Prime 
Minister,  Richelieu  the  omnipotent;  the  Grand  Mon- 
arch and  his  stately  court;  "  le  Bien-Aime,"  and  the 
Pompadour. 

But  the  traveler  who  stands  to-day  in  that  courtyard 
of  the  Fontainebleau  Chateau  forgets  the  Valois  and 
the  Bourbon,  forgets  Francis  of  Angouleme  and 
Henry  of  Navarre;  for  the  old  concierge  who  walks 
by  his  side  does  not  tell  him  of  the  hunts  and  tourneys 
of  the  second  Henry,  or  of  the  fetes  and  pompous 
journeys  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  but,  stopping  at  the 
foot  of  the  Horseshoe  Staircase,  he  says  these  words: 
"  Here  Napoleon  took  leave  of  his  Guard,  April  2Oth, 
1814.  Since  then  this  court  has  been  called  Cour 
des  Adieux." 

Twelve  o'clock !  The  click  of  spurs  was  heard  upon 
the  marble  floor  of  the  palace  vestibule.  The  Em- 
peror appeared  in  the  great  doorway.  The  Garde 
Imperiale  presented  arms. 

He  came  rapidly  down  the  staircase  and  advanced 
to  where  they  stood,  and  then  he  said — but  everyone 
knows  what  he  said,  for  the  words  have  been  printed 
again  and  again.  They  mean  little  now — they  are 
mere  words.  But  it  was  different  when  they  were 
first  spoken  on  that  April  morning,  by  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  to  the  soldiers  of  his  Old  Guard,  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  Palace  Fontainebleau.  They  were 


LES  ADIEUX  DE  FONTAINEBLEAU    249 

his  good  friends,  who  had  marched  at  his  side  and 
camped  about  his  tent,  had  stemmed  the  tide  of  defeat 
and  turned  it  into  victory,  and  closed  around  him,  like 
a  brazen  wall,  when  the  Russian  guns  swept  the  icy 
plains  at  Moscow. 

He  was  their  Little  Corporal,  who,  after  twenty 
years  of  triumph  and  of  glory,  had  come  to  say  good- 
bye. 

So  they  listened  while  he  spoke,  and  they  saw  him 
kiss  the  eagle,  and  they  watched  him  as  he  entered  his 
carriage,  and  they  followed  the  carriage  with  their 
eyes  as  it  drove  along  the  courtyard,  out  of  the  gate, 
and  disappeared.  Then  slowly  and  sadly  they 
marched  to  their  barracks.  And  all  was  quiet  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  Palace  Fontainebleau. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"VIVE   LE   ROI!" 

"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?  " 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
"Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he; 
"  But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

— SOUTHEY,  Battle  of  Blenheim. 

BRIGHTLY  shone  the  sun  on  the  3rd  of  May,  1814. 
It  was  a  lovely  day,  and  surely  if  a  day  ought  ever  to 
be  lovely  that  day  should  have  been  so.  Why?  Had 
not  the  sun  and  "  Nee  pluribus  impar  "  been  the  em- 
blem and  motto  of  that  wonderfully  high-heeled  and 
big-wigged  grandiloquent  monarch,  King  Louis  Qua- 
torze?  And  in  the  old  days  at  Versailles  was  it  not 
true  that  "  the  rain  of  Marly  never  wet  one,"  and  that 
when  the  king  had  planned  to  go  a  hunting  it  was 
always  clear  in  deference  to  the  royal  will?  What 
could  be  more  appropriate,  therefore,  than  that  the 
sun  should  shine  brightly  on  that  3rd  of  May,  1814, 
when  the  Grand  Monarque's  descendant,  Louis-Stan- 
islas-Xavier  de  Bourbon,  after  a  somewhat  extended 
foreign  tour  of  twenty-four  years,  was  to  make,  by  the 
kind  assistance  of  Messrs.  George  of  England,  Alex- 
ander of  Russia,  Francis  of  Austria,  and  Charles 
Maurice  de  Talleyrand-Perigord,  his  serio-comic 
entree  into  his  good  city  of  Paris,  and  settle  down  in 
the  Tuileries  Palace  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life. 
Therefore  shine  brightly,  sun;  chirp  gaily,  little  birds; 


VIVE  LE  ROI  251 

run  quickly  from  the  sky,  clouds!  And  the  sun, 
birds  and  sky,  knowing  that  it  was  proper  for  them  to 
shine,  sing,  and  be  clear,  did  so,  and  the  day  was 
lovely. 

There  had  been  great  rejoicing  a  few  days  before  at 
Compiegne,  where  the  Marshals  and  Generals  of  the 
Empire  had  gone  to  welcome  King  Louis  de  Bourbon. 
How  happy  they  all  were  to  see  him,  and  the  old  cus- 
tom of  kissing  the  royal  hands  could  not  be  revived 
too  quickly.  But  in  this  case  it  happened  that  the 
royal  hands  were  scrofulous  ones,  and  as  people  are 
not  generally  fond  of  kissing  scrofulous  hands, 
although  they  may  be  royal,  His  Most  Christian 
Majesty  kindly  consented  to  put  royal  green  gloves 
on  the  royal  scrofulous  hands,  and  the  Marshals, 
Generals,  Counts  and  Barons  kissed  the  royal  green 
gloves  and  were  happy.  Then  they  all  sat  promptly 
down  to  dinner,  for  His  Most  Christian  Majesty  was 
always  punctual.  "  L'exactitude  est  la  politesse  des 
rois  "  (Punctuality  is  the  politeness  of  kings)  was  his 
motto,  and,  by  the  way,  the  only  thing  he  ever  said 
worth  remembering,  for  all  those  Latin  sentences 
which  he  used  to  rattle  off  so  glibly  were  cribbed  from 
classic  authors. 

What  a  dinner  it  was! — four  soups,  four  removes, 
four  great  dishes,  four  great  entremets,  and  thirty-two 
entrees.  And  when  the  Most  Christian  Majesty  sent 
some  vermouth  to  Marshal  Macdonald,  and  Marshal 
Macdonald,  who  was  much  more  at  home  facing 
cannon-balls  than  eating  big  dinners  of  Most  Chris- 
tian Majesties,  forgot  to  rise  and  cry  "  Vivat,"  the  kind 
King  forgave  him  so  gracefully  and  royally  that  it 
touched  the  hearts  of  everybody,  and  even  the  marble 
Apollo  in  the  royal  dining-room  shed  tears. 


252  THE  GRENADIER 

Then  they  came  on  to  Saint-Ouen,  leisurely  enough, 
for  there  was  no  hurry,  and  it  was  just  as  well  to  let 
the  good  people  of  Paris  get  up  on  their  tiptoes  of 
expectation  before  their  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the 
sight  of  a  Most  Christian  and  Royally  Scrofulous 
Majesty. 

But  finally  the  3rd  of  May  came  round,  and  the 
royal  king  was  all  dressed  for  the  royal  entry,  with 
beautiful  green  gloves  on  the  royal  scrofulous  hands, 
and  bright  red  velvet  gaiters  on  the  fat,  gouty  legs, 
and  a  blue  coat  with  gold  epaulettes,  and  on  the  royal 
hat — and  this  was  the  most  touching  of  all — a  big 
white  cockade,  which  had  been  pinned  there,  when  the 
Most  Christian  Majesty  was  in  London,  by  the  fat 
hands  of  no  less  a  personage  than  Beau  Brummers 
friend,  that  worthless  rake  and  puppy  the  Prince 
Regent  of  England,  alias  "  first  gentleman  in  Europe," 
whom  Thackeray,  skilfully  dissecting  in  the  "  Four 
Georges,"  found  to  consist  mainly  of  scented  hand- 
kerchiefs, padded  waistcoats,  oily  wigs,  and  wind. 

Now  to  get  King  Punctuality  into  the  carriage. 
That  was  a  trick  indeed!  And  the  Marshals  and 
Generals  pushed  and  tugged,  and,  as  a  combination  of 
effort  is  generally  successful,  it  was  finally  accom- 
plished, and  the  Marshals  and  Generals  could  take  off 
their  plumed  hats  and  mop  their  brows  and  thank 
their  stars  that  Louis-Stanislas-Xavier  de  Bourbon 
was  not  to  get  out  again  until  he  reached  his  jour- 
ney's end,  and  hope  that  there  would  be  a  derrick  at 
the  Tuileries  Palace  when  he  did  so.  And,  in  witness- 
ing the  difficulties  experienced  by  His  Most  Christian 
Majesty  in  mounting  his  coach  to  make  his  entree 
into  his  good  city  of  Paris,  it  is  interesting  to  note  the 


VIVE  LE  ROI  253 

remarkable  agility  with  which,  a  year  later,  this  same 
two  hundred  and  odd  pounds  of  royal  scrofulous  flesh 
got  into  its  royal  traveling  clothes,  down  the  grand 
staircase,  into  the  royal  coach,  and  packed  off  to 
Ghent,  when  the4  cocked  hat  and  redingote  grise  of  the 
Little  Corporal  appeared  before  the  gates  of  Lyons. 

But,  says  the  candid  reader,  you  are  hard  on  King 
Louis  XVIII.  He  was  a  stout  king,  it  is  true,  but 
then  he  was  old  and  infirm;  you  should  have  some 
respect  for  old  age.  Remember  too  what  a  hard  time 
he  had  had  wandering  about  over  Europe,  and  what 
beautiful  letters  he  had  written  to  the  First  Consul, 
full  of  touching  allusions  to  Francis  I. 

Good  reader,  any  sympathy  expended  on  Louis- 
Stanislas-Xavier  de  Bourbon  would  be  a  case  of 
pearls  and  pigs.  If,  when  he  was  Count  of  Provence, 
he  had  only  eaten  and  grown  fat  he  would  have  done 
no  more  than  many  another,  but  he  tried  to  blacken  the 
character  of  poor  Marie  Antoinette,  and  did  it  system- 
atically too.  And  when  the  wind  began  to  whistle  and 
the  storm  to  howl,  he  jumped  into  a  traveling  carriage, 
for  he  was  more  agile  in  those  days,  and  hurried  off 
to  Coblentz,  leaving  brother  Louis  XVI,  who  had  a 
good  heart  and  an  empty  head,  to  get  out  of  things  as 
best  he  could.  Now,  however,  since  kind  foreign 
friends  had  gotten  brother  Louis  XVFs  bed  ready  for 
him,  and  a  good  dinner  was  cooking  in  the  Tuileries 
kitchen,  he  was  naturally  willing  enough  to  come  back 
and  enjoy  it  all.  And  so,  with  punctual  King  Cochon 
in  the  carriage,  the  royal  procession  started  at  a  trot. 
At  the  right  door  of  the  carriage  rode  the  Count 
d'Artois,  who  had  made  his  entry  into  Paris  some 
days  before.  On  which  occasion,  when  he  had  been 


254  THE  GRENADIER 

somewhat  at  a  loss  for  something  to  say  to  the  joyous 
deputation  sent  out  to  meet  him,  the  Prince  de  Talley- 
rand or  Count  Beugnot  had  kindly  invented  for  him 
the  famous  phrase,  "  Nothing  is  changed ;  there  is  only 
one  more  Frenchman,"  which  looked  so  nicely  the 
next  morning  in  the  "  Moniteur."  He  rode  along  on 
his  prancing  horse  trained  d  la  Franconi,  looking  as 
gay  as  in  the  old  days  at  Versailles,  when  his  principal 
occupations  had  been  dancing  on  the  tight  rope  and 
seducing  femmes  de  chambre. 

By  the  left  door  rode  the  Due  de  Bern,  the  worthy 
son  of  his  worthy  father  the  Count  d'Artois;  and  in 
front  of  the  royal  carriage — and  this  might  surprise 
us  if  we  did  not  know  that,  as  the  Due  de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld said,  "  Everything  happens  in  France  " — rode 
Marshal  Berthier,  Prince  of  Neufchatel  and  Wagram, 
the  man  who  during  twenty  years  had  been,  in  cabinet 
and  carriage,  by  the  side  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 
He  rode  along  with  the  gayest  possible  air,  and, 
en  passant,  the  reference  to  the  Emperor  Napoleon  was 
quite  a  slip  in  this  connection,  for  the  Marshal  Ber- 
thier, Prince  of  Neufchatel  and  Wagram,  at  that 
moment  knew  no  such  person.  He  had  a  slight  ac- 
quaintance with  Usurper  Bonaparte,  but  it  would  have 
been  most  mal  d  propos  for  any  one  to  have  men- 
tioned it. 

But  it  was  not  all  comedy,  this  entree  of  Louis- 
Stanislas-Xavier  de  Bourbon :  there  was  tragedy  about 
it  too.  By  the  King's  side  in  the  royal  carriage  sat 
the  pale,  melancholy  Duchess  d'Angouleme,  the  last 
of  the  family  of  Louis  XVI.  She  was  entering  again 
this  Paris  of  which  she  had  such  dreadful  recollections, 
this  Paris  where  her  little  brother  Louis  had  perished 


VIVE  LE  ROI  255 

at  the  hands  of  Simon  the  shoemaker,  and  her  father, 
mother,  and  aunt  Elizabeth  upon  the  guillotine. 
There  was  no  joy  in  her  face. 

And  look  on  ahead  of  the  royal  carriage.  There, 
lining  the  road  on  either  side,  dressed  in  their  blue 
coats  and  great  bearskin  caps,  scarred  with  the  sabre- 
cuts  and  bayonet-thrusts  of  Marengo,  Austerlitz,  Jena, 
Eckmiihl,  Wagram,  Moscow,  Lutzen,  Bautzen,  Mont- 
mirail,  stood  the  Grenadiers  of  the  Garde  Imperiale. 
Among  them  were  our  old  friends,  Francois  Legrand, 
Gustave  Lebon,  and  Andre  Marceau.  Their  great 
hairy  caps  were  pushed  down  on  their  knit  brows,  their 
lips  were  curled  in  angry  scorn,  their  teeth  showed 
fiercely  under  their  heavy  mustaches;  and  when  the 
royal  procession  passed  they  all  presented  arms  with 
such  a  furious  rattle  of  weapons  that  more  than  one 
spectator  trembled. 

The  comedy  was  in  the  fat  king,  the  grinning  Count 
d'Artois,  the  foppish  Due  de  Berri.  The  tragedy  was 
in  the  sad  Duchess  d'Angouleme  and  in  those  heroic, 
war-worn  veterans  of  the  Garde  Imperiale.  And  thus 
they  reached  the  Tuileries  Palace,  and  thus  was 
Louis-Stanislas-Xavier  de  Bourbon  installed — not 
par  la  grace  de  Dieu,  but  by  the  grace  of  England, 
Russia,  Prussia,  Austria,  Sweden  and  Dame  Fortune 
— King  of  France — pro  tern. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
A  THUNDERBOLT 

On  a  sudden  open  fly, 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 
The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder. 

— MILTON,  Paradise  Lost. 

THUS  they  reached  the  Tuileries  Palace,  and  how 
nice  everything  was!  "Why,  it  must  be  confessed," 
said  His  Majesty,  "that  Bonaparte  was  a  very  good 
tenant.  He  has  arranged  everything  excellently  for 
me."  Why,  it  was  perfectly  charming!  There  were 
a  number  of  N's  here  and  there,  however,  on  the  fur- 
niture and  on  the  walls,  but  that  was  easily  managed. 
A  strip  of  velvet  was  pasted  over  them  and  the  effect 
was  fine;  and  as  for  the  eagles  beside  the  throne — why, 
they  looked  so  well  that  it  was  decided  not  to  take 
them  down.  Then  there  were  some  marble  busts  of 
the  Emperor  about  the  Louvre,  but  they  were  soon 
fixed.  Clever  workmen  put  some  plaster  of  Paris  on 
the  nose  and  made  a  nice  plaster  of  Paris  wig  for 
each,  and  there  you  were !  The  simplest  thing  in  the 
world!  Bonaparte?  Not  a  bit  of  it— Louis  XVIII! 
And  now  to  business.  The  Imperial  chefs  were 
kicked  out  of  the  Tuileries  kitchen  and  the  Royal 
chefs  put  in,  and  the  menus  were  carefully  arranged 
for  the  royal  breakfasts,  dinners  and  suppers,  and, 
this  important  matter  being  happily  concluded,  a 


A  THUNDERBOLT  257 

Charter  was  issued,  dated  "  In  the  nineteenth  year  of 
our  reign,"  which  was  quite  right  and  proper  from 
the  point  of  view  of  His  Most  Christian  Majesty,  who, 
whether  living  at  Hartwell  or  wandering  about  in 
Poland,  believed  himself  always  King  of  France 
par  la  grace  de  Dieu. 

Then  Monsieur  went  smiling  and  bowing  and  cara- 
coling along  on  his  circus-trained  charger  to  hold  a 
review  in  the  Champ-de-Mars.  And  His  Majesty 
went  in  his  wheeled  chair  to  the  opera  to  see 
"  Oedipe,"  and  beamed  like  a  big  round  moon  over 
the  edge  of  the  royal  box  at  his  faithful  subjects  And 
Madame  la  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  went  up  in  the 
Tuileries  attic  and  hunted  for  an  old  spinnet  which  had 
belonged  to  Marie  Antoinette,  and  which  had  been 
left  in  the  palace,  and  which  Madame  la  Duchesse 
expected  to  find  there  in  spite  of  all  the  moving  and 
house-cleaning  that  had  taken  place  in  that  establish- 
ment since  1792. 

And  then  the  Imperial  Guard  was  cut  up  and 
made  Royal  Grenadiers  of  France  and  Royal  chasseurs 
a  pied  of  France,  and  Royal  cuirassiers  of  France  and 
Royal  chasseurs  a  cheval  of  France  and  Royal  Light- 
Horse  Lancers  of  France  and  several  other  royal 
things.  And  six  companies  of  Royal  gardes-du-corps 
were  instituted  just  as  they  had  been  in  1789,  and  more 
companies  of  gardes-du-corps  were  made  for  Monsieur 
and  also  some  compagnies  rouges.  And  the  old  ones 
were  kicked  out  and  the  new  ones  were  put  in.  The 
emigres  and  old  noblesse  got  stars  and  ribbons  and 
were  made  captains  and  colonels  and  generals  and 
what-not  And  if  you  had  fought  at  Austerlitz  or 
Wagr?m  you  were  nobody,  and  if  your  grandfather 

17 


258  THE  GRENADIER 

had  held  the  king's  shirt  or  tied  the  king's  garter  at 
the  petit  lever  you  were  a  great  man.  And  Napoleon's 
profile  was  wiped  off  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  the 
profile  of  Henry  IV  was  put  in  its  place.  Now 
Henry  IV  was  a  jolly  king  and  a  brave  one,  and  the 
French  have  always  been  glad  to  sing  his  praises  and 
those  of  his  "  charmante  Gabrielle,"  but  no  doubt  you 
will  agree  that  his  piquant  physiognomy  was  as  much 
out  of  place  on  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  as 
it  would  have  been  upon  the  pyramid  of  Cheops. 

And  as  may  be  supposed,  with  all  this  eating,  and 
prancing,  and  bowing,  and  kicking-out  and  hoisting- 
in,  and  theatre-going,  and  proclamation-issuing,  and 
bust-decorating,  the  government  of  His  Most  Chris- 
tian Majesty  was  much  too  busy  to  pay  any  attention 
to  the  Treaty  of  Fontainebleau,  or  send  to  Bonaparte 
the  sums  of  money  guaranteed  him  by  that  Treaty  to 
pay  his  bills  in  Elba.  And  so,  before  very  long  the 
people  of  Paris  and  Lyons  and  Marseilles  and  Greno- 
ble and  Boulogne  and  Orleans  and  numberless  other 
places,  witnessing  the  grand  transformation  scene  ar- 
ranged by  the  royal  company,  under  the  stage  direc- 
tion of  M.  de  Blancas  and  His  Most  Christian  Majesty, 
began  to  ask  themselves  this  question,  "Where  are 
we  at?"  Good  people,  you  are  coming  out  of  your 
trance.  You  have  been  laboring  under  the  absurd 
delusion  that  you  have  had  a  revolution,  a  republic, 
and  an  empire.  No  such  thing!  You  are  in  the 
nineteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  His  Most  August,  Most 
Serene,  Most  Glorious,  Most  Robust  and  Most  Scrofu- 
lous Majesty,  Louis  XVIII  of  France  and  Navarre, 
King  by  the  grace  of  God ! 

It  was  a  gloomy  winter  for  our  friends  in  Grenoble, 


A  THUNDERBOLT  259 

the  winter  of  1814-15.  Marie  was  busy  caring  for  the 
little  Josephine,  who  was  three  and  a  half  now.  She 
wrote  often  to  Pierre,  and  she  wondered  when  she 
would  see  Pierre  again,  for  Pierre  had  been  among 
the  600  grenadiers  chosen  by  the  Emperor  to  accom- 
pany him  to  Elba.  It  was  hard  to  leave  France  and 
all  there  after  the  years  of  separation  that  had  already 
passed,  but  Pierre  had  written,  "  It  is  hard,  but  I 
must  go.  I  owe  him  all."  And  Marie  had  written, 
"  Go,  it  is  your  duty." 

So  Marie  cared  for  the  little  Josephine,  and  the 
gargon  Gaspard  assisted  the  pere  Henri  at  the  Cafe 
Jodelle.  As  may  be  supposed  it  was  not  a  joyous 
winter  for  the  pere  Henri,  or  for  Philippe  Courteau,  or 
for  old  Frederic  Bonneville.  They  met  often  at  the 
Hotel  des  Trois  Dauphins,  and  when  the  papers  came 
from  Paris  and  they  read  of  some  new  act  of  the 
Royal  Government  which  overturned  the  existing  state 
of  things  and  threw  contempt  upon  the  old  soldiers 
of  the  Empire,  Philippe  would  look  at  Frederic  Bonne- 
ville and  say  with  a  grave  face,  "  Well,  you  wanted 
peace.  You've  got  it.  What  do  you  think  of  it?  I 
observe  you  don't  go  to  the  niairie  to  get  your  pension 
any  more." 

Frederic's  pension  had  been  cut  off,  and  so  had 
Philippe's  and  Henri's  likewise.  Thus  the  winter  was 
gloomy,  for  trade  was  bad,  and  each  had  to  look 
closely  at  his  affairs  or  he  would  have  found  the 
hungry  wolf  snuffing  at  his  door.  They  formed  a 
club,  Philippe,  Henri  and  Frederic;  they  called  it 
"Club  Violette,"  the  Violet  Club,  and  this  was  the 
sign  of  membership.  When  they  met  one  who  they 
thought  was  of  their  party  they  said,  "  Aimez-vous  la 


260  THE  GRENADIER 

violette? "  And  if  the  answer  was  "  Oui,"  then  the 
one  so  answering  was  not  with  them ;  but  if  the  answer 
was  "  Eh  bien,"  then  the  one  so  answering  was  of  their 
party.  And  they  met  often  at  the  Trois  Dauphins, 
and  while  La  Barre  stood  by  the  door  and  looked  up 
and  down  to  watch  who  came,  they  toasted  "  Caporal 
Violette "  who  lived  on  the  island  of  Elba.  And 
there  were  many  more  in  France  who  did  likewise. 
And  so  the  winter  passed. 

One  evening  in  the  early  days  of  March,  1815,  the 
diligence  from  Voreppe  came  clattering  into  Grenoble. 
Burly  Matthieu  was  still  driving,  but  the  black  horse 
and  the  roan  mare — the  one  having  gone  blind  and 
the  other  having  broken  a  leg — had  been  succeeded 
by  two  shaky  bays.  There  was  only  one  passenger  in 
the  diligence,  a  tall  man  with  black  hair  and  mustache 
and  keen  dark  eyes.  He  wore  a  round  hat,  boots 
and  gloves,  and  a  long  blue  overcoat,  and  as  he  looked 
out  of  the  diligence  window  and  saw  the  houses  and 
dimly-burning  lamps  of  the  Rue  Montorge,  his  face 
assumed  a  hard  and  bitter  expression.  So  then,  after 
six  years,  Jean  Deteau  was  in  Grenoble  once  more. 
And  where  had  he  been  all  this  time?  Oh!  in  Spain 
fighting  under  Soult,  Jourdan  and  Joseph  Bonaparte, 
where  little  had  been  experienced  but  disaster,  and 
where  the  Anglo-Portuguese  army  commanded  by 
Lord  Wellington  had  been  steadily  driving  them  back 
toward  France,  until  finally  after  the  battle  of  Vittoria 
they  had  been  compelled  to  cross  the  Bidassoa.  Then 
they  fought  to  keep  the  enemy  out  of  southern  France 
until  the  Empire  fell,  when,  after  the  king's  return, 
Deteau  found  himself  on  half-pay  and  with  no  very 
pressing  call  for  his  services  either.  So  that  his  ex- 


A  THUNDERBOLT  261 

pectations  for  a  great  military  career,  expectations 
which  had  assumed  gigantic  proportions  in  1809, 
could  now  all  be  put  in  a  thimble,  and  not  a  very 
large  thimble  at  that.  He  had  quickly  discovered 
during  a  two  days'  stay  in  Paris  that  his  former 
patrons  could  do  nothing  for  him,  so  he  became  at 
once  a  zealous  supporter  of  the  Bourbons  and  a  reviler 
of  Bonaparte.  But  there  were  so  many  others  doing 
the  same  thing  that  he  attracted  no  attention  and  was 
given  no  opportunity  to  show  his  newly-acquired  zeal. 
Therefore  he  set  out  for  Grenoble,  nursing  his  disap- 
pointment. And  did  he  know  of  Marie's  marriage 
and  Pierre's  honors?  Oh,  yes,  he  knew  all  about  it, 
for  at  the  time  of  the  wedding  stout  Robert  Bovard 
had  sent  him  full  particulars,  being  totally  ignorant 
of  what  had  occurred  on  the  road  to  Tudela  and  sup- 
posing that  as  he  had  known  Pierre  he  would  be  glad 
to  hear.  Thus  he  was  sufficiently  posted,  and  thus  he 
rode  down  the  Rue  Montorge,  the  hard  look  in  his 
eyes  and  rage  in  his  heart.  Jean  Deteau,  beaten  in 
love  and  defeated  in  war! 

When  they  reached  the  Trois  Dauphins  old  La 
Barre  came  out.  "  Got  any  passengers,  Matthieu? " 
said  he. 

"  One,"  said  Matthieu. 

Deteau  opened  the  coach  door  and  stepped  out. 
"  I'm  here  for  the  night,"  said  he  to  La  Barre,  "  and 
I  want  supper." 

"  Chenument  (very  well),  Monsieur." 

"  You  may  bring  in  my  luggage." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

Deteau  walked  into  the  hall  of  the  inn  and  sat 
down.  "Where  do  I  lodge?"  he  inquired,  without 
getting  up  as  La  Barre  came  in  with  the  luggage. 


262  THE  GRENADIER 

"You  can  stop  in  this  room  on  the  right,"  said 
La  Barre,  depositing  the  bags  and  lighting  a  candle. 

"  Now,"  said  Deteau,  "  I  want  supper." 

La  Barre  bustled  off,  leaving  Deteau  to  his  own 
meditations.  At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  he  came 
back  and  said,  "  It's  ready,  Monsieur." 

Deteau  found  the  dining-room  comfortable,  a  good 
fire  was  burning,  and  the  supper  was  not  unpalatable — • 
it  never  was  at  the  Trois  Dauphins — and  so  when  he 
had  finished  half  a  bottle  of  wine  he  felt  more  cheerful. 

"And  how  are  the  times?"  said  he,  as  La  Barre 
came  in  with  a  fresh  log  for  the  fire. 

"Malheur!  very  poor,"  said  La  Barre.  "Trade's 
none  too  good,  and  people  in  this  house  ain't  over- 
glad  when  they  reads  of  the  doings  in  Paris." 

Deteau  saw  which  way  the  wind  blew.  "  Ah ! " 
said  he,  sighing,  "  no  doubt  they,  like  me,  regret  the 
downfall  of  the  Emperor." 

"Indeed  they  do,"  said  La  Barre.  "I've  often 
heard  M.  Courteau  and  M.  Jodelle  tell  that  we  was 
all  going  to  hell  with  the  d d  Bourbons." 

" Mon  oeil!  Have  you  indeed?"  said  Deteau. 
"  And  is  M.  Jodelle  a  friend  of  M.  Courteau?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  they  are  great  friends.  They  drink 
often  to  Caporal  Violette." 

"  And  who  is  Caporal  Violette?  "  inquired  Deteau. 

"  Well,  seeing  as  how  you're  one  of  us  who  is 
grieving  because  he  ain't  here,  there's  no  harm  in 
saying  it's  the  Little  Corporal — him  as  is  at  Elba." 

"  Bring  another  glass,  good  fellow,"  said  Deteau, 
"  we  must  both  drink  to  Caporal  Violette." 

La  Barre  did  so  and  they  drank.  Then  Deteau 
plied  him  with  questions  and  they  drank  again.  La 


A  THUNDERBOLT  263 

Barre's  tongue  worked  so  beautifully  in  a  short  time 
that  Deteau  was  not  long  in  learning  all  about  the 
"  Club  Violette  "  and  its  members.  Then  as  La  Barre 
discovered  that  the  stranger  took  a  real  interest  in 
him  and  in  his  statements,  he  grew  eloquent  and  began 
to  pour  forth  his  personal  views  on  the  state  of 
France.  Deteau  rose  abruptly.  "  It  is  late,"  said  he. 

"  C'est  renversant!  (wonderful).  So  it  is,"  said  La 
Barre,  looking  around  at  the  clock.  "  I  must  get  the 
mail-bag  ready  for  morning.  Parbleu !  but  I've  forgot 
the  letter  M.  Jodelle  give  me  to  put  in  it." 

"  M.  Jodelle  gave  you  a  letter?"  said  Deteau. 

"  Yes,  it's  to  M.  Pasquin — him  as  is  with  Caporal 
Violette — him  as  we've  been  drinking  to." 

"  And  where  is  your  letter?  "  said  Deteau  quickly. 

La  Barre  was  fumbling  in  his  pocket  "  Here  it 
is,"  said  he,  examining  it  by  the  candle.  Then  he 
laid  it  on  the  table.  Deteau  picked  it  up.  "  Yes,  it  is 
to  M.  Pasquin,"  he  said,  "  fortunate  M.  Pasquin  who 
is  with  Caporal  Violette.  My  friend,  we  must  drink 
again  to  Caporal  Violette."  And  so  they  drank. 

"  Go  and  get  your  mail-bag,"  said  Deteau. 

La  Barre  went  out  with  steps  somewhat  unsteady. 
Deteau  drew  an  envelope  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it 
down  beside  the  letter.  "  Not  quite  the  size  but  near 
enough,"  he  said  quietly,  and  slipping  Henri  Jodelle's 
letter  into  his  pocket,  he  left  the  envelope  lying  on  the 
table.  Presently  La  Barre  returned,  mail-bag  in 
hand. 

"  Mon  ami,"  said  Deteau,  "  open  your  bag.  Give 
me  the  pleasure  of  starting  on  its  way  this  letter  to 
the  brave  M.  Pasquin  who  is  so  near  him  we  both 
honor — Caporal  Violette." 


264  THE  GRENADIER 

So  La  Barre  hiccoughed  and  opened  the  bag,  and 
Deteau  gracefully  dropped  the  envelope  within. 

"There  are  quite  a  good  many  letters  in  it,  are 
there  not?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  it's  heavy,"  said  La  Barre. 

"  Fasten  it  up,"  said  Deteau.  "  When  does  the  dili- 
gence go  south  in  the  morning?  " 

"  Eight  o'clock,"  said  La  Barre,  swaying  from  side 
to  side. 

"  Foutre !  Stand  up  there,  you  fool !  "  cried  Deteau. 
"  You'll  knock  over  the  candle." 

"D n  candle!"  said  La  Barre.  "He!  He! 

We're  pretty  great  friends,  ain't  we?  We  drink  often 
to  Caporal  Violette." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  Now  see  here,  you  are  paf  " 
(drunk),  and  Deteau  shook  his  arm.  "  I  am  going 
at  eight  in  the  morning  and  shall  want  breakfast 
before.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

La  Barre  hiccoughed.  "  We're  pretty  great  friends, 
ain't  we?"  said  he  smiling  placidly. 

"Malheur!  What's  to  be  done  with  this  ass?" 
cried  Deteau  in  disgust 

"  Je  suis  paf,"  mumbled  La  Barre.  "He!  He!  je 
suis  paf! "  He  tripped  over  the  rug,  fell  down  on  it, 
curled  himself  up,  and  began  to  snore. 

"  Well,  he  may  lie  there  for  all  I'll  bother  with 
him,"  said  Deteau,  and  blowing  out  the  light  he  went 
to  his  own  room.  Then  closing  his  door  he  sat  down 
by  the  candle  and  opened  the  letter  carefully.  "  I 
don't  know  that  anything  will  come  of  this,"  he  said 
casually,  "  but  I  thought  I  would  find  out  what  was 
going  on."  So  he  began  to  read,  and  as  he  read  he 
smiled,  a  sneering  smile,  and  then  his  eyes  glittered. 


A  THUNDERBOLT  265 

He  rose  and  waved  the  letter  in  the  air.  "  I  have 
him !  I  have  him !  "  he  cried  softly.  "  I  can't  get  at 
that  diable  Pasquin,  but  I  can  get  at  you,  M.  Henri 
Jodelle.  This  will  be  good  reading  for  M.  de  Vaudre- 
court,  procureur-du-roi,  and  then  we  shall  see  if  I  who 
bring  to  light  Bonapartist  conspiracies  am  not  entitled 
to  something  from  the  Government." 

In  the  morning  Deteau  stood  on  the  steps  awaiting 
the  diligence.  It  came,  and  so  did  La  Barre,  a  trifle 
the  worse  for  wear,  with  luggage  and  mail-bag. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Deteau,  after  paying  his 
score,  "when  does  M.  Courteau  return?" 

"  To-day,"  said  La  Barre.     "  He's  been  to  Vizille." 

"  Well,"  said  Deteau,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "  you 
fill  his  place  superbly.  Here  in  this  envelope  you  will 
find  something  I  wish  to  give  you." 

Old  La  Barre,  overwhelmed  with  gratitude,  stood 
hat  in  hand  by  the  diligence  door. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  how  can  I  ever  thank  you?  " 

"  Oh !  don't  mention  it,"  said  Deteau,  looking  out 
over  the  top  of  La  Barre's  head.  "  Come,  postillion, 
en  avant!" 

The  diligence  started,  but  before  they  had  proceeded 
far  Deteau  put  his  head  out  of  the  window.  "  I  have 
changed  my  mind,"  said  he.  "  I  am  not  going  south. 
Stop  at  the  Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs,  Rue  Montorge." 

La  Barre,  meantime,  had  gone  into  the  Trois  Dau- 
phins. He  was  much  excited  about  the  mysterious 
envelope.  What  could  it  contain?  It  was  not  very 
heavy,  still  there  was  something  in  it.  What  a  fine 
man  the  stranger  was !  Suppose  he  were  some  famous 
person  in  disguise,  some  Prince  of  the  Empire.  La 
Barre  had  heard  of  such  things.  It  was  rumored  that 


266  THE  GRENADIER 

the  King  of  Naples  had  come  disguised  into  France. 
Suppose  this  were  the  King  of  Naples.  Well,  if  that 
were  so  the  gift  would  be  large,  for  the  King  of 
Naples  was  a  generous  giver.  And  if  the  gift  were 
large  La  Barre  would  purchase  a  pig;  he  had  always 
wanted  one,  and  there  was  a  convenient  stall  in  the 
stable  which  could  be  made  into  a  pen.  He  would 
buy  a  sow  and  then  he  would  raise  young  pigs  and 
sell  them,  and  the  tin  box  under  the  pillow  would 
become  quite  full.  This  was  a  happy  thought  and  a 
pleasant  one.  La  Barre  opened  the  envelope.  There 
was  a  good-sized  piece  of  paper  in  it  folded  several 
times,  and  upon  unfolding  it  La  Barre  read  thes^ 
words — you  are  a  fool.  There  never  was  a  man  so 
surprised  as  La  Barre! 

On  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  March,  M.  de  Vaudre- 
court,  procureur-du-roi,  was  seated  in  his  office  on  the 
Grand  Rue,  Grenoble,  preparing  a  document  to  send 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  when  his  servant  announced  a 
visitor,  "  M.  Jean  Deteau." 

"  Bon  jour,  monsieur,"  said  Deteau  as  he  entered. 
The  procureur-du-roi  bowed. 

"  I  am  a  military  man,  Monsieur,  and  desire  to  go 
briefly  to  business.  Here  is  a  letter  that  chance  has 
put  in  my  way.  You  know  the  parties,  or  know  of 
them.  Read  it  and  you  will  see  why  I  am  here." 

M.  de  Vaudrecourt  took  the  letter  and  read: 

Mon  cher  Pierre. 

I  am  writing  from  the  Trois  Dauphins.  Marie  is  well 
and  Josephine  also.  Things  in  France  as  you  know  are  no 
better.  What  could  one  expect?  Do  you  know  what  I 
heard?  It  was  whispered  that  before  long  the  time  for 
violets  will  have  come.  "  Elle  reparaitra  au  printemps,"  they 


A  THUNDERBOLT  267 

said.  God  grant  it  may  be  so.  Who  has  been  appointed 
procureur-du-roi  in  Grenoble,  do  you  think?  Vaudrecourtl 
the  biggest  fool  and  the  biggest  scoundrel,  too.  He  would 
be  glad  to  break  up  the  Club  Violette,  but  he  shall  not. 
Once  he  sang  the  Little  Corporal's  praises,  now  he  licks 
the  hand  of  the  Bourbons.  He  is  a  chien  hargncu.  But  no 
matter,  we  shall  continue  to  toast  Corporal  Violette  and  one 
day  we  shall  see. 

Votre  beau-pere  affectionne", 
S  Mars,  1815.  HENRI. 

"  Ah,"  said  M.  de  Vaudrecourt,  placing  the  letter 
on  his  desk,  "  as  it  is  directed  to  M.  Pasquin,  the  signer 
is,  I  fancy,  M.  Henri  Jodelle." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Deteau. 

"  Monsieur,  you  have  rendered  me  a  service,"  said 
the  procureur-du-roi.  "  I  have  been  trying  to  get  hold 
of  some  of  the  members  of  the  Qub  Violette.  Thanks 
to  you,  they  shall  not  escape  me  now." 

"  I  can  tell  you  all  about  them,  Monsieur,"  replied 
Deteau. 

"  Tres-bien,  you  shall  do  so,  but  in  my  carriage. 
We  will  pay  a  visit  to  M.  Henri  Jodelle.  If,  as  he 
says,  I  am  a  '  snappish  cur ' — le  diabk!  he  shall  feel  my 
teeth." 

The  procureur-du-roi  ordered  his  carriage,  and  when 
it  came  there  was  a  gendarme  on  the  box  beside  the 
coachman.  M.  de  Vaudrecourt  and  Deteau  entered. 

"  Tell  him  to  drive  to  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  Place  Gre- 
nette,"  said  the  procureur-du-roi  to  the  gendarme. 

Gaspard  had  gone  to  the  Trois  Dauphins  that  morn- 
ing, and  this  is  how  he  came  to  go  there.  After 
breakfast  Henri  had  said,  "  Gaspard,  go  to  the  Trois 
Dauphins  and  find  out  if  Philippe  has  come  back 
from  Vizille."  So  Gaspard  set  out,  and  as  the  morn- 


268  THE  GRENADIER 

ing  was  bright  he  felt  happy  and  occasionally  looked 
in  the  shop-windows  as  he  went  along.  At  the  same 
time  that  the  carriage  containing  M.  de  Vaudrecourt 
and  Deteau  reached  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  Gaspard  reached 
the  Trois  Dauphins,  where  a  moment  later  the  dili- 
gence from  Vizille  came  rattling  up  to  the  door  and 
Philippe  Courteau  jumped  out.  His  arrival  occasioned 
the  wildest  excitement  and  demonstrations  of  joy  on 
the  part  of  La  Barre,  who  probably  felt  that  the  re- 
sponsibility of  the  Trois  Dauphins  was  too  much  for 
him  alone,  or  why  should  he  have  made  such  an  ado? 
As  for  Gaspard  he  set  off  for  the  Cafe  Jodelle  as  fast 
as  his  legs  could  carry  him.  Probably  he  was  in 
such  a  hurry  because  he  thought  he  had  wasted  time 
on  the  way  thither. 

"  The  little  Gaspard  is  a  swift  runner,"  said  dame 
Bovard  as  she  saw  him  speeding  down  the  Rue  Mon- 
torge. 

Ah!  swift  indeed!  Run,  little  Gaspard!  There  are 
some  at  the  Cafe  Jodelle  whose  safety  is  in  danger. 
There  are  some  at  the  Cafe  Jodelle  who  need  you 
and  your  message.  Run,  little  Gaspard,  run! 

M.  de  Vaudrecourt  and  Deteau  entered  the  Cafe 
Jodelle  with  the  gendarme.  They  passed  to  Henri's 
sitting-room  and  knocked.  "  Come  in,"  said  Henri, 
and  they  entered.  Marie  sat  near  the  window  sewing, 
the  little  Josephine  was  playing  on  the  floor  and  Henri 
writing  at  the  table.  He  looked  up  in  surprise  when 
he  saw  the  procureur-du-roi,  and  then  rising  he  leaned 
on  his  crutch  and  said  briskly,  "  Well,  sir?  " 

"  M.  Henri  Jodelle,  I  believe,"  said  Vaudrecourt. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Henri,  "  you  know  me  well 
enough.  What  do  you  want?" 

Henri  had  been  looking  intently  at  the  procureur- 


A  THUNDERBOLT  269 

du-roi,  but  Marie  had  been  looking  elsewhere,  and 
before  M.  de  Vaudrecourt  could  answer  she  cried  out, 
"Father!  father!  it  is  Jean  Deteau!" 

"  Le  diable !  "  cried  Henri,  "  so  it  is." 

"  I  am  flattered  to  think  that  Madame  Pasquin  re- 
members me,"  said  Deteau,  bowing.  Ugh!  what  a 
bow,  and  what  a  sneering  accent  on  the  words 
"  Madame  Pasquin." 

"  So  Rosbif  de  rat  d'egout!  (you  skunk!)  you've  come 
back,  have  you?"  roared  Henri.  "They  must  have 
damn-fool  cannon-balls  in  Spain  since  they  knock  over 
honest  men  and  leave  curs  like  you." 

"You  shall  pay  for  that,"  snarled  Deteau,  ad- 
vancing. 

"Stop!"  cried  M.  de  Vaudrecourt,  "stand  back! 
This  is  my  affair." 

The  gendarme  had  meanwhile  closed  the  door,  and 
little  Josephine  was  regarding  him  with  wondering 
eyes. 

"  M.  Jodelle,"  said  the  procureur-du-roi  in  a  banter- 
ing tone,  "  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  are  not 
satisfied  with  the  blessings  showered  upon  you  by 
the  Government  of  His  Majesty.  And  more,  that  you 
have  in  Grenoble  talked  in  an  outrageous  manner  re- 
garding His  Majesty's  representatives.  And  in  short, 
sir,  you  have  conspired  and  are  conspiring  with  the 
agents  of  the  Usurper.  Of  this  I  have  proof." 

"What  proof?"  cried  Henri. 

"  A  letter  of  yours  to  M.  Pasquin." 

"  Well,  bring  it  out." 

"  Mon  Dieu !  I  am  not  fool  enough  to  give  it  you 
now.  It  shall  be  seen  at  the  proper  time." 

"And  how  did  you  get  it?"  demanded  Henri 
fiercely. 


2/0  THE  GRENADIER 

"  No  matter  how  I  got  it.  Let  it  suffice  that  I 
have  it" 

"Well,  what  if  you  have!"  cried  Henri.  "I  have 
never  conspired.  No  letter  of  mine  can  prove  it" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  belong  to  the 
Club  Violette,  and  that  you  don't  drink  to  Caporal 
Violette,  which  is  only  another  name  for  the 
Usurper?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Henri,  "  I  belong  and  we  drink  to  him. 
We've  fought  under  him  and  we  wish  him  well. 
There's  no  conspiracy  in  that.  My  God!  if  you  are 
going  to  arrest  people  for  that,  you  will  have  to  arrest 
three-fourths  of  France." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  procureur-du-roi.  "  We  shall 
see." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Marie,  coming  forward,  "  he  has  never 
conspired.  Believe  me  he  has  never  conspired.  He 
has  fought  for  the  Emperor,  and  my  Pierre  is  with 
him,  and  he  writes  to  him  and  wishes  the  Emperor 
well.  Oh!  surely,  surely,  that  cannot  be  wrong." 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,"  said  the  procureur-du-roi, 
sternly.  "  Now  mark  me,  Henri  Jodelle.  You've 
reviled  me  long  enough.  I'm  a  'snappish  cur,'  am 
I?  You  shall  feel  my  teeth.  I  '  lick  the  hand  of  the 
Bourbons/  do  I?  You  shall  feel  the  weight  of  their 
hand.  I  am  procureur-du-roi  in  Grenoble,  and  by  the 
King's  name  I'll  have  you  tried  for  abetting  the 
Usurper,  and  if  we  catch  you,  as  we  shall,  you'll  hang 
on  a  gallows  in  Grenoble  forty  feet  high." 

And  then  something  happened,  for  the  door  burst 
open,  and  Gaspard,  his  big  brown  eyes  blazing  with 
excitement,  sprang  into  the  room  and  cried  with  all  his 
little  might:  "What  do  you  think?  Napoleon  has 
landed  in  France!  He  is  on  the  march  to  Paris! " 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  EAGLE  WITH  THE  TRICOLOR 

The  imperial  ensign,  which  full  high  advanced, 
Shone  like  a  meteor,  streaming  to  the  wind, 

— MILTON,  Paradise  Lost. 

THE  procureur-du-roi  turned  pale,  Marie  uttered  a 
joyful  cry,  and  Henri  Jodelle  stood  erect  and  tossed 
his  head. 

"You  lie!"  cried  Jean  Deteau,  striding  toward 
Gaspard. 

"Chiche!"  cried  Gaspard,  "no  I  don't.  The  dili- 
gence brought  the  news  this  morning.  He's  coming 
and  everybody  is  coming  with  him." 

There  was  no  doubt  that  something  was  up  now, 
for  they  heard  shouts  in  the  street,  and  through  the 
window  they  saw  a  company  of  the  7th  of  the  Line 
marching  toward  the  Place  Grenette. 

M.  de  Vaudrecourt  had  grown  terribly  nervous. 
He  had  oth^r  matters  to  think  of  now  beside  revenge 
on  Henri  Jodelle.  "I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it!" 
he  exclaimed,  but  his  face  showed  he  lied.  "  Deteau, 
come  with  me  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville."  And  the 
procureur-du-roi  rushed  to  his  carriage,  followed  by 
Deteau  and  the  bewildered  gendarme.  "  To  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  d,  toute  bride! "  cried  M.  de  Vaudrecourt,  and 
they  went  at  a  gallop,  but  as  they  left  the  Place  Gre- 
nette they  heard  ominous  shouts  of  "Vive  1'Em- 
pereur!" 


272  THE  GRENADIER 

Poor  Marie !  the  excitement  of  the  last  half-hour  had 
nearly  upset  her.  She  didn't  faint,  but,  dazed  by  her 
conflicting  emotions  of  fear  and  joy,  she  sank  into  a 
chair.  Why,  if  the  Emperor  was  coming,  Pierre  was 
coming  too!  Could  it  be  true?  Could  it  be  true? 

"What  did  they  want  here?"  cried  Gaspard. 

"  No  good,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Henri,  "  but 
I've  no  time  to  talk  now.  Fetch  my  hat.  I  must 
see  Philippe."  Gaspard  brought  it.  "  Now  Marie, 
my  dear,"  said  Henri,  kissing  her,  "  don't  worry. 
We'll  lead  them  a  dance!  Parbleu!  I  wish  I  had  two 
legs!  "  And  old  Henri  thumped  hastily  out  of  the 
cafe. 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  little  Josephine,  coming  to 
Marie's  side,  "  is  papa  coming  with  Emperor?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  cried  Marie,  "  papa  is  coming  with 
Emperor.  Papa  is  coming,  Josephine." 

"Oh!  nice!  nice!"  cried  Josephine.  "Gaspard! 
Gaspard!  Papa  is  coming  with  Emperor!  Papa  is 
coming  with  Emperor ! "  And  seizing  Gaspard's 
hands,  she  danced  up  and  down  through  the  room. 
And  thus  into  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  so  lately  filled  with 
rage  and  terror  and  anguish,  came  joy  and  hope  and 
rejoicing — brought  by  the  Imperial  name! 

And  now,  Authorities  of  Grenoble,  what  means  have 
you  of  resisting  the  Invader  who  is  rapidly  advancing? 
Let  us  see.  You  have  the  5th,  the  7th  and  the  nth 
regiments  of  the  Line,  the  3rd  engineers,  the  4th 
artillery  and  the  4th  hussars,  several  thousands  in  all, 
and  he  has  but  eleven  hundred.  Yes,  you  have 
enough,  place  your  men,  load  your  cannon,  fortify 
your  redoubts,  you  will  crush  him  yet — if  your  men 
stand  firm.  So  during  the  afternoon  and  evening  of 


THE  EAGLE  WITH  THE  TRICOLOR     273 

the  6th  of  March  the  redoubts  were  strengthened,  the 
cannon  loaded,  the  city  gates  shut,  and  the  3rd  engi- 
neers and  4th  artillery  placed  in  position  on  the  ram- 
parts. During  the  night  of  the  6th  and  /th,  the  5th 
regiment  commanded  by  Lessard  was  sent  to  meet 
the  enemy.  They  advanced  beyond  Vizille  and  took 
up  a  position  where  the  road  was  narrow — on  the  right 
a  partly  frozen  lake,  on  the  left  a  high  hill.  Behind 
them  lay  the  little  village  of  Vizille,  its  inhabitants 
even  at  that  early  hour  gathering  in  the  streets  with 
joy  and  wonder  depicted  on  their  faces,  and  farther 
north  was  Grenoble,  its  ramparts  bristling  with  can- 
non, its  gates  shut,  its  redoubts  bright  with  bayonets. 
And  still  farther  north  was  Lyons,  all  commotion  with 
regiments  entering  it  from  all  directions  and  plumed 
Marshals  hastening  from  Paris  to  take  command. 
And  Dijon  was  in  consternation,  and  Chatillon  up- 
roarious, and  Troyes  wild  with  excitement,  and  be- 
yond all  was  Paris,  seething  like  a  volcano,  and  in 
the  Tuileries  Palace  a  Most  Christian  Majesty  asking 
advice  to  right  and  to  left.  Surely  if  Messieurs  les 
Autorites  de  Grenoble  do  their  duty  there  is  little  need 
for  troops  in  Lyons  or  anxiety  on  the  part  of  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty.  A  usurper  with  eleven  hun- 
dred men! — bah!  You  shall  see.  Thus  with  all 
France  behind  them  in  uproar  and  before  them  the 
road  to  Gap  quiet  and  deserted,  stood  the  soldiers  of 
the  5th  of  the  Line,  looking  with  fixed  gaze  ever  to 
the  southward — silently  waiting. 

So  the  hours  of  the  morning  passed,  and  near  noon, 
over  the  crest  of  the  hill  toward  Gap,  they  saw  the 
eagle  of  France  and  the  bearskin  caps  of  the  Imperial 
Guard.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came;  the  white 
cross-straps  that  held  the  knapsacks  could  be  distin- 

18 


274  THE  GRENADIER 

guished  now,  and  the  plumes  in  the  bearskin  caps. 
And  there  was  Marshal  Bertrand  on  his  horse,  and 
who  was  that  riding  beside  him  dressed  in  the  gray 
overcoat  and  the  plain  cocked  hat?  It  was  he,  the 
Little  Corporal!  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the 
tramp  of  the  grenadiers  and  the  ring  of  the  horses' 
hoofs.  Thus  they  advanced,  and  when  they  had  come 
within  a  hundred  paces  of  the  sphinx-like  wall  that 
confronted  them,  they  halted.  "  Mallet,"  said  the  Em- 
peror, "  tell  them  to  put  their  guns  under  their  arms." 
Then  dismounting,  and  with  his  overcoat  unbuttoned 
showing  his  green  uniform  of  the  chasseurs  a  cheval 
with  its  star  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  he  advanced 
alone,  facing  that  phalanx  of  silent  soldiers,  those 
serried  rows  of  sharp,  bright  bayonets. 

Do  you  see  him,  soldiers  of  the  Fifth?  That  is 
Bonaparte.  He  comes  to  raise  civil  war  in  France, 
they  say.  He  comes  to  drive  the  Bourbon  Louis  from 
his  par  la  grace  de  Dieu  throne.  He  is  an  outlaw. 
Les  Puissances  Alliees  have  set  a  price  upon  his  head. 
Which  one  of  you  now  will  pull  the  trigger  of  a  well- 
aimed  musket,  give  the  Usurper  here  a  brigand's  death, 
and  put  an  end  to  this  Return  from  Elba?  And  for  the 
soldier  who  kills  him,  what  reward?  Why,  gold  and 
glory!  The  cross  of  honor  from  the  hand  of  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty  at  the  Tuileries  Palace! 
Fetes  and  decorations  from  les  Puissances  Alliees! 

He  comes  nearer.  Yes,  it  is  Napoleon!  It  is  the 
Emperor!  On  his  head  the  little  hat  he  wore  at  Jena 
and  at  Wagram,  on  his  back  the  gray  greatcoat  of 
Montmirail,  by  his  side  the  sword  of  Austerlitz! 
About  him  the  glory  of  his  victories,  behind  him  the 
grenadiers  of  his  Garde  Imperiale,  above  him  the  flag 
of  France! — torn  by  balls,  blackened  by  powder, 


THE  EAGLE  WITH  THE  TRICOLOR     275 

proudly  fluttering,  ever  advancing,  ever  victorious  1 
Thus  in  the  deathlike  stillness  he  approaches,  nearer 
and  nearer,  step  by  step,  step  by  step.  See!  he  is  here! 
Now,  soldiers  of  France,  between  Louis-Stanislas- 
Xavier  de  Bourbon  and  Napoleon  Bonaparte — 
choose! 

"  Well,  how  are  you  all  in  the  5th  regiment?  "  said 
the  Emperor  cheerfully. 

"  Quite  well,  sire,"  answered  the  soldiers. 

"  I  am  come  again  to  visit  you.  Are  there  any 
among  you  that  would  wish  to  kill  me?" 

"Certainly  not,  sire!"  shouted  the  soldiers. 

Up  went  the  shakos  on  the  bayonets,  and  on  the 
clear  frosty  air  rang  out  the  shout — the  old  shout  of 
Austerlitz  and  of  Wagram — "  Vive  1'Empereur !  " 

The  Bourbon  commander  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
the  band  struck  up  the  "  Marseillaise,"  the  broad  folds 
of  the  Imperial  banner  fluttered  in  the  breeze,  the  5th 
of  the  Line  wheeling  about  formed  the  van,  and  on 
they  marched — bands  playing,  flags  flying,  people 
cheering,  soldiers  shouting — in  triumph  to  Grenoble! 

And  when  they  reached  Grenoble  it  was  nine  at 
night,  the  drawbridge  was  up,  the  gates  fast  barred, 
the  brazen  guns  frowning  from  the  ramparts,  and 
all  about  was  inky  darkness.  Small  chance  to  enter 
Grenoble  to-night.  And  in  the  blackness  the  Em- 
peror went  and  stood  alone  before  the  drawbridge, 
facing  the  walls  of  Grenoble  and  the  death-dealing 
batteries.  But  none  could  see  him  in  the  darkness, 
and  there  was  silence.  Then  the  brave  Labedoyere 
came  and  stood  beside  him,  and  out  of  the  gloom  and 
the  silence  he  cried  to  the  soldiers  on  the  ramparts, 
"Soldiers,  it  is  I,  Labedoyere,  Colonel  of  the  7th! 
We  bring  you — Napoleon  I" 


276  THE  GRENADIER 

There  was  a  great  shout  from  the  soldiers,  lights 
flashed  on  the  ramparts,  the  drawbridge  was  lowered, 
the  gates  fastened  by  the  authorities  were  beaten  in 
twain  by  axes,  and  Grenoble  with  its  walls  and  its 
bastions,  its  redoubts  and  its  ramparts,  its  guns  and 
its  bayonets,  fell — before  the  Imperial  name! 

The  garrison  and  the  people  came  rushing  out,  and 
on  all  sides  were  shouts  and  flaming  torches.  So  they 
went  in  triumph  through  the  city — a  vast  mass  of 
frenzied  soldiers  and  vociferating  people  and  waving 
lights  and  strains  of  music,  and  in  the  centre  the  Em- 
peror on  his  white  horse.  And  the  people  sang  the 
chanson  a  I' air  Charles  VII: 

"II  faut  combattre;  1'Empereur  1'ordonne, 
Nous  obeirons  a  ses  lois; 
Pour  conserver  sa  couronne, 
Nous  chasserons  tous  les  rois. 
Aliens,  enfants  de  la  patrie, 
Jurons  tous  a  notre  Empereur, 
De  lui  bien  conserver  la  vie, 
Avec  lui  n'ayons  jamais  peur." 

When  they  reached  the  Place  Grenette  all  the  houses 
were  bright  with  lights,  but  brightest  of  all  shone  the 
Cafe  Jodelle,  with  all  its  windows  ablaze  from  floor  to 
roof,  while  in  the  door  stood  Marie,  Gaspard,  and  the 
little  Josephine.  And  all  at  once  from  the  crowd  of 
soldiers  and  people  there  came  running  a  stalwart, 
decorated  Captain  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  who  threw 
his  arms  about  Marie's  neck  and  kissed  her  and  the 
little  Josephine,  and  that  was  the  happiest  night  the 
Cafe  Jodelle  had  seen  for  many  a  year. 

"And  where  will  Your  Majesty  lodge?"  said  Mar- 
shal Bertrand. 


THE  EAGLE  WITH  THE  TRICOLOR      277 

"  I  will  go  to  the  Trois  Dauphins,"  said  the  Em- 
peror. "  It  is  kept  by  one  of  my  old  soldiers." 

So  they  went  with  all  the  crowd  following.  And 
while  the  Emperor  was  getting  supper,  the  crowd  in 
the  Rue  Montorge  grew  larger  and  larger  and  the 
shouts  redoubled.  For  there  came  forty  workmen  of 
Grenoble  carrying  the'  gates  of  the  city,  and  at  their 
head  old  Henri  Jodelle,  his  eyes  flashing,  and  his 
wooden  crutch  pounding  the  cobblestones.  And  the 
people  cried  with  a  thousand  voices,  "Vive  1'Em- 
pereur!" 

"  Sire,"  said  Marshal  Bertrand,  "  the  people  want 
you." 

So  the  Emperor  came  out  and  stood  on  the  steps  of 
the  Trois  Dauphins,  and  beside  him  stood  Marshal 
Bertrand,  and  beside  him  Philippe  Courteau.  And 
surely  a  Czar  of  all  the  Russias,  when  he  put  on  his 
crown  in  the  Cathedral  of  the  Assumption,  never 
looked  more  imposing  than  did  Philippe  Courteau  that 
night.  And  there  too  was  old  La  Barre  dancing  for 
joy,  and  there  too  was  Gaspard,  cap  in  hand,  and  there 
too  were  Marie  and  Pierre  holding  the  little  Josephine, 
and  there  too  was  old  Frederic  Bonneville  beside 
them.  And  the  Rue  Montorge  was  packed  with 
people,  and  every  window  of  the  Trois  Dauphins  was 
full  of  them,  and  every  window  in  the  Rue  Montorge 
was  illuminated.  And  when  the  Emperor  appeared, 
there  was  a  great  shout  and  then  silence.  And  before 
them  all  old  Henri  Jodelle  advanced  to  the  steps  of 
the  Trois  Dauphins,  and  while  all  held  their  breath  to 
listen,  he  said: 

"  Emperor,  we  could  not  bring  you  the  keys  of  your 
good  town  of  Grenoble,  but  here  are  the  gates!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
IN  THE  PLACE  BELLECOUR 

The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 
The  ruling  passion  conquers  reason  still. 

— POPE,  Moral  Essays. 

ON  the  Qth  of  March  the  Emperor  set  out  for  Lyons. 
That  city  was  full  of  troops  and  Monsieur  le  Comte 
d'Artois  had  come  from  Paris  to  take  command  of 
them,  but  he  did  not  find  their  temper  to  his  taste  and 
when,  at  ten  at  night  on  the  Qth  of  March,  the  Mar- 
shal Macdonald  reached  Lyons  he  found  Monsieur  in 
a  despondent  mood. 

"There  is  no  reliance  to  be  placed  upon  these 
soldiers,  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  said  the  Count 
d'Artois,  as  Macdonald  entered  the  dining-room  of  the 
Governor's  house  with  the  Count  des  Cars.  "  I  have 
given  orders  to  evacuate  the  city  in  the  morning." 

"  Abandon  Lyons !  "  cried  the  Marshal  Macdonald. 
"  Where  then  will  you  stop  after  quitting  the  barrier 
of  the  Rhone?  " 

"The  troops  have  declared  that  they  will  offer  no 
resistance,"  said  the  Count  d'Artois. 

"  Let  us  try  something  before  giving  up,"  replied 
the  Marshal. 

"  Well,  take  command,"  said  the  Count  d'Artois,  "  I 
give  you  full  powers." 

"  Let  us  suspend  our  retreat,  Monseigneur,"  said 


IN  THE  PLACE  BELLECOUR          279 

Macdonald.  "  We  can  always  come  back  to  that  if 
necessary,  for,  if  Napoleon  is  within  a  march  of  the 
town,  let  him  make  as  much  speed  as  he  likes  he 
cannot  arrive  until  between  one  and  two  o'clock  in 
the  day,  as  he  has  to  lead  wearied  soldiers.  Let  us 
assemble  our  men  at  six  in  the  morning,  see  them, 
speak  to  them;  we  may  gain  something  by  it.  We 
will  try  to  change  their  opinion  by  attacking  them  on 
the  subject  of  their  honor,  always  a  delicate  point  with 
a  Frenchman.  We  will  explain  to  them  the  misfor- 
tunes that  must  result  from  a  civil  war,  and  the  danger 
to  France,  no  less  great,  of  seeing  all  Europe  raised 
in  arms  against  her  for  the  second  time." 

To  this  the  Count  d'Artois  agreed,  so  the  Mar- 
shal Macdonald  ordered  the  Morand  and  la  Guillo- 
tiere  bridges  to  be  barricaded  and  summoned  all  the 
garrison  to  assemble  next  morning  in  the  Place  Belle- 
cour.  Between  three  and  four  in  the  morning  Gen- 
eral Brayer  was  announced  at  the  Marshal's  hotel. 
He  found  Macdonald  seated  in  his  apartment  at  a 
table  upon  which  lay  his  hat  and  numberless  papers 
and  about  which  pieces  of  torn  paper  were  strewn  on 
the  carpet.  The  Marshal  was  writing  an  order.  He 
looked  weary,  for  he  had  been  up  all  night. 

"  Monsieur  le  Marechal,"  said  General  Brayer,  "  I 
come  to  tell  you  that  the  troops  have  refused  to  be 
reviewed  by  the  Count  d'Artois,  but  they  will  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you,  their  old  General." 

"Who  can  have  put  that  idea  into  their  heads?" 
cried  the  Marshal  in  surprise.  "Are  we  on  the  eve 
of  a  fresh  revolution?  Is  every  bond  of  discipline 
relaxed?" 

"  No,"  replied  General  Brayer,  "  but  they  have  been 


280  THE  GRENADIER 

excited  by  speeches  and  their  officers  are  not  less  ex- 
cited. So  many  follies  have  already  been  committed, 
so  little  interest  has  been  taken  in  the  soldiers,  and 
so  much  injustice  has  been  done  to  make  places  for 
the  emigres  upon  whom  rank,  honors  and  distinctions 
have  been  showered." 

"  From  your  manner,  sir,"  said  the  Marshal  curtly, 
"  I  gather  that  you  share  these  opinions." 

"  I  do.  I  agree  with  them.  But,  Monsieur  le 
Marechal,  it  is  getting  late.  It  is  more  than  time  to 
warn  Monsieur  not  to  appear  before  the  troops,  to 
prevent  him  from  being  insulted." 

"True,"  said  the  Marshal.  He  took  his  hat  and 
accompanied  by  General  Brayer  set  out  for  the  Gov- 
ernor's house. 

"  His  Royal  Highness  is  asleep,"  said  the  Count 
des  Cars  when  the  Marshal  was  ushered  into  the 
antechamber  of  the  Count  d'Artois. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  replied  Macdonald, 
"  my  business  admits  of  no  delay." 

The  Count  d'Artois,  therefore,  was  awakened,  the 
Marshal  was  announced,  and  the  Count  sat  up  in  bed. 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Marechal?"  said  he. 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  Macdonald,  "  the  reports  I 
have  received  during  the  night,  regarding  the  state 
of  mind  of  the  men,  are  no  better.  It  is  possible  that 
the  presence  of  your  Royal  Highness  may  be  a  con- 
straint upon  them.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I 
saw  them  alone,  for  I  am  accustomed  to  war  and,  as 
it  were,  one  of  themselves.  They  can  express  their 
opinions  more  freely  to  me,  and  I  will  let  you  know 
the  result  as  soon  as  possible." 

"As  you  please,"  answered  the  Count  d'Artois. 


IN  THE  PLACE  BELLECOUR          281 

At  six  in  the  morning,  therefore,  the  Marshal  Mac- 
donald  rode  alone  to  the  review.  The  rain  was 
pouring,  and  the  troops  drawn  up  on  parade  filled  the 
great  Place  Bellecour,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood 
an  equestrian  statue  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  looking 
haughtily  down  upon  these  soldiers  of  France  who  had 
just  refused  to  do  honor  to  his  descendant. 

"  Vive  le  Marechal  Macdonald !  "  shouted  the  sol- 
diers as  the  hero  of  Wagram  rode  into  the  Place 
Bellecour.  The  Marshal  ordered  them  to  form  a 
square  and  rode  into  the  middle  of  it  that  he  might 
be  better  heard. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  I  thank  you  for  this  recep- 
tion. I  flatter  myself  that  it  arises  from  a  recollection 
of  the  care,  which  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  of  attach- 
ment, I  have  always  taken  of  your  comfort.  I  recog- 
nize your  loyal  services  and  your  devotion  in  good 
and  bad  fortune.  Though  we  have  succumbed  at 
last  it  has  been  with  honor  at  any  rate,  and  it  has 
required  all  the  armies  of  Europe,  and  some  great 
blunders  on  our  side,  which  cannot  be  imputed  to  us, 
to  put  us  down.  You  all  know  I  have  been  the  last  to 
submit.  We  have  fulfilled  our  obligations,  and  re- 
leased by  the  will  of  the  nation  we  have  contracted 
others  not  less  sacred.  To  these  the  Royal  Govern- 
ment will  find  us  equally  loyal.  The  invasion  that 
has  collected  us  here  at  Lyons  will  let  loose  upon  la 
belle  France  even  greater  misfortunes  than  those  of  last 
year,  for  then  ancient  France  remained  intact,  but  now 
the  Allies  will  make  us  pay  dearly  for  a  fresh  appeal 
to  arms.  I  think  too  highly  of  your  patriotism  to 
believe  that  you  will  refuse  to  do  as  I  do,  who  have 
never  deceived  you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  follow 


282  THE  GRENADIER 

me  along  the  path  of  duty  and  honor.  And  now,  my 
friends,  the  only  guarantee  that  I  ask  of  you  is  to  join 
with  me  in  crying,  Long  live  the  King ! "  And  rising 
in  his  stirrups  the  Marshal  Macdonald  waved  his  hat 
in  the  air  and  shouted  three  times  as  loud  as  he 
could,  "  Vive  le  Roi! "  Not  a  single  voice  joined  him. 
The  Marshal  Macdonald  shouted  alone. 

Well,  what  was  to  be  done  now?  The  troops  had 
suddenly  turned  to  stone.  The  Place  Bellecour  had 
become  a  square  of  sphinxes.  The  Marshal  sent  for 
the  Count  d'Artois,  hoping,  all  reports  to  the  con- 
trary, that  he  would  be  received,  if  not  with  cordiality, 
with  respect  at  least.  His  Royal  Highness  soon  came 
followed  by  his  staff,  but  there  was  the  same  stony 
silence.  Then  dismounting,  the  Marshal  and  the 
Count  d'Artois  walked  down  the  lines,  exhorting  the 
troops,  but  the  soldiers  stood  motionless,  impassive 
and  silent.  There  was  a  battalion  of  the  Garde  Im- 
periale  on  the  right  of  the  Place,  and  as  they  reached 
it  the  Count  d'Artois  went  up  to  a  "  vieux  moustache  " 
decorated  with  the  Legion  of  Honor.  It  was  Andre 
Marceau. 

"  Surely  a  brave  soldier  like  you,"  said  the  Count 
d'Artois,  placing  his  hand  on  Andre's  shoulder,  "  will 
cry  Vive  le  Roi !  " 

"  No  I  won't!  "  said  Andre  bluntly.  "  I've  only  one 
cry,  and  that's  Vive  1'Empereur! "  And  he  shouted  it 
out  with  all  his  might.  In  an  instant  it  was  taken  up 
by  regiment  after  regiment,  and  in  the  face  of  His 
Royal  Highness  the  Count  d'Artois,  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  statue  of  his  proud  ancestor  Louis  le 
Grand,  was  hurled  again  and  again  that  world-con- 
quering shout,  Vive  1'Empereur !  The  Count  d'Artois 


IN  THE  PLACE  BELLECOUR          283 

grew  crimson  with  rage.  "  Monsieur  le  Marechal," 
said  he,  "it  is  as  I  told  you.  Nothing  can  be  done 
with  them.  Send  them  away."  There  was  therefore 
no  march  past,  but  the  troops  were  sent  at  once  to 
their  barracks. 

"  We  may  be  more  successful  with  the  officers, 
Monseigneur,"  said  the  Marshal.  "  I  will  try  them  by 
themselves.  They  may  have  felt  some  awkwardness 
before  their  men." 

"  Do  what  you  can,"  said  his  Royal  Highness.  "  I 
am  going  to  see  M.  Girouette  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
MAYOR  GIROUETTE 

Manners  with  fortunes,  humors  turn  with  climes, 
Tenets  with  books,  and  principles  with  times. 

— POPE,  Moral  Essays. 

THE  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Lyons  faced  the  Place  des  Ter- 
reaux,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  loth  of  March, 
1815,  the  Mayor's  study  upon  the  second  floor  had 
as  its  occupants  a  stout  gentleman  with  a  very  bald 
head  who  was  busily  engaged  in  writing  at  a  desk, 
and  a  small  black  poodle  which  was  stretched  com- 
fortably before  the  fireplace.  The  stout  gentleman 
was  no  other  than  the  most  worshipful  Mayor  of 
Lyons,  M.  Jacques  Girouette,  and  the  black  poodle 
was  his  dog  Fidele. 

Nothing  was  heard  in  the  apartment  save  the  crack- 
ling of  the  fire  and  the  squeak  of  M.  Girouette's  pen 
as  it  ran  rapidly  over  the  paper.  The  worshipful 
Mayor  was  engaged  in  drawing  up  two  proclama- 
tions, one  of  which,  already  nearly  finished  and  lying 
beside  him  on  the  desk,  began  as  follows:  "  Citizens  of 
Lyons,  the  invader  Bonaparte  having  been  beaten 
back  and  the  legitimate  authority  of  our  glorious  sov- 
ereign Louis  XVIII  having  been  firmly  established, 
it  behooves  us  to  show  our  loyalty  to  His  Majesty." 
The  other  proclamation  upon  which  the  worthy  Mayor 
was  working  had  this  inception:  "  Citizens  of  Lyons, 


MAYOR  GIROUETTE  285 

once  more  our  august  sovereign  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon arrives  in  triumph!  Let  us  rally  round  the  tri- 
color, that  glorious  flag  under  which  France  has  so 
often  marched  to  victory." 

From  time  to  time  the  honorable  M.  Jacques 
scratched  his  head  or  pulled  at  the  high  black  stock 
about  his  neck.  The  honorable  M.  Jacques  was  evi- 
dently in  some  perplexity,  and  well  he  might  be,  for 
here  was  a  trying  situation  truly!  With,  on  the  one 
hand,  a  Most  Christian  King  going  but  not  yet  gone, 
and  on  the  other  a  Most  Imperial  Ernperor  coming 
but  not  yet  come,  what  was  the  proper  course  to  be 
pursued  by  a  most  prudent  Mayor  who  desired  to  save 
his  official  head?  Why,  like  the  Austrian  eagle,  look 
both  ways.  And  so,  with  a  large  and  elegant  white 
cockade  on  his  hat  and  an  elegant  and  large  tricolored 
one  in  the  drawer  of  his  desk,  M.  Jacques  Girouette, 
Mayor  of  Lyons,  was  prepared  for  any  freak  of  for- 
tune. 

Presently  the  door  was  opened  and  the  gendarme 
Laserre  appeared.  "  Monsieur  le  Maire,"  said  he, 
"  the  Count  des  Cars  brings  you  a  message  from  His 
Royal  Highness  the  Count  d'Artois." 

"  Admit  him  instantly,"  cried  Mayor  Girouette,  slip- 
ping into  his  desk  the  proclamation  beginning  "  Once 
more  our  august  sovereign  the  Emperor  Napoleon." 
A  moment  later  the  Count  des  Cars  entered,  and  the 
worthy  Mayor,  who  had  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the 
apartment,  made  him  a  low  bow. 

"  Monsieur  le  Maire,"  said  the  Count  des  Cars, 
"His  Royal  Highness  will  be  here  shortly.  He 
wishes  to  have  a  conference  with  you." 

"I  am  entirely  at  the  service  of  His  Royal  High- 
ness," answered  the  Mayor,  bowing  again. 


286  THE  GRENADIER 

"  Do  you  know  the  result  of  Marshal  Macdonald's 
review  of  the  troops?"  inquired  the  Count 

"No,  Monsieur." 

"  Well,  they  refuse  to  march  against  the  rascal  Bon- 
aparte." 

"  The  more  fools  they,"  said  Mayor  Girouette. 

The  noise  of  a  carriage  was  heard  before  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  and  the  Count  des  Cars  stepped  to  a  window 
and  looked  out  upon  the  Place.  "  His  Royal  High- 
ness has  come,"  he  cried.  And  the  Count  and  the 
Mayor  hurried  down  the  staircase. 

For  a  few  moments  the  Mayor's  study  was  deserted, 
only  the  black  poodle  Fidele  lay  before  the  fire.  Then 
Monsieur  le  Comte  d'Artois  entered,  followed  by  the 
Mayor  and  the  Count  des  Cars.  Monsieur,  aged  and 
faded,  was  greatly  changed  from  the  dashing  Count 
d'Artois  of  former  days  who  played  the  part  of  Figaro 
to  Marie  Antoinette's  Rosina  in  the  "  Barbier  de  Se- 
ville," and  was  the  gayest  of  the  gay  among  the 
brilliant  cavaliers  of  Petit  Trianon.  Still  he  was 
rather  tall  and  slim,  and  with  his  gold-laced  uniform 
and  blue  ribbon  was  altogether  the  most  presentable 
male  member  of  the  Bourbon  family.  He  sat  down 
in  an  armchair,  while  M.  Jacques  Girouette  and  the 
Count  des  Cars  stood  respectfully  before  him. 

"  Monsieur  le  Maire,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  that  at- 
tempted to  be  gracious,  "you  have  heard  no  doubt 
that  the  troops  are  not  disposed  to  carry  out  our 
wishes.  I  have  just  come  from  reviewing  them. 
They  manifest  a  most  unaccountable  attachment  to  the 
Usurper,  and  in  this  emergency  we  must  look  to  the 
good  people  of  Lyons  to  do  their  duty  to  France  and 
to  the  King.  Can  I  rely  upon  you,  Monsieur  le 
Maire?" 


MAYOR  GIROUETTE  287 

"Upon  me?  Girouette?"  cried  the  Mayor,  "can 
Your  Royal  Highness  doubt  it!  Never  have  I 
swerved  from  my  loyalty  to  my  legitimate  King,  even 
when  I  was  compelled  to  take  my  bread  from  the  hand 
of  the  Usurper.  The  villain!  he  dragged  us  about 
over  Europe  and  slaughtered  us  in  endless  numbers 
to  gratify  his  vile  ambition.  Now  the  wretch  would 
come  again,  but  we  have  enjoyed  peace  for  a  year 
and  have  seen  once  more  our  glorious  and  legitimate 
King.  The  dastard  Bonaparte  will  find  that  the  peo- 
ple of  France  will  never  again  submit  to  him." 

"  Such  sentiments  do  you  honor,  Monsieur  le 
Maire,"  answered  the  Count  d'Artois,  "  but  from  what 
I  have  seen  I  am  frank  to  say  I  do  not  think  they  are 
shared  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  of  Lyons." 

"The  more  fools  they!"  cried  the  Mayor.  "If 
the  Brigand  ever  approaches  the  walls  of  Lyons — 
which  pray  God  he  never  may! — I  would  be  willing 
to  take  a  sword  myself  and  go  against  him." 

"  I  will  not  require  such  a  proof  of  your  devotion, 
Monsieur  le  Maire,  but  can  you  find  me  twenty  loyal 
men  who  will  disguise  themselves  as  National  Guards, 
go  to  the  Guillotiere  bridge  and  fire  upon  the  enemy? 
If  we  can  get  some  one  to  make  an  attack  when  the 
Usurper's  advance-guard  appears,  we  may  gain  some- 
thing yet." 

"  I  will  find  them,  Monseigneur,  be  assured  I  will 
find  them,  and  I  will  lead  them  myself  if  there  is 
need,"  cried  the  worthy  Mayor. 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  inform  His  Majesty  of  your 
loyalty,  Monsieur  le  Maire,"  said  the  Count  d'Artois 
as  he  rose  and  left  the  room. 

The  Mayor,  bowing  obsequiously,  followed  him  to 


288  THE  GRENADIER 

his  carriage,  saying  in  earnest  tones,  "  Assure  His 
Majesty,  Monseigneur,  that  Girouette  was  at  his  post." 

The  Count  d'Artois  entered  his  carriage  and  mo- 
tioned M.  des  Cars  to  take  the  opposite  seat.  "  To 
the  Place  Bellecour,"  said  His  Royal  Highness,  and 
the  carriage  rolled  away. 

As  Mayor  Giroutte  returned  to  his  study,  he 
encountered  his  wife  upon  the  landing  of  the  staircase. 
Madame  Girouette  was  a  quick  little  woman,  with 
bright  black  eyes  that  snapped  vivaciously. 

"  Well,  Jacques  Girouette,"  she  cried,  "  what  have 
you  been  telling  His  Royal  Highness?" 

"  I  have  promised  to  find  him  twenty  men  to  go  to 
the  Guillotiere  bridge  and  resist  the  Invader." 

"Idiot!"  cried  Madame  Girouette.  "Where  will 
you  find  them?  Don't  you  know  that  everybody  is 
going  over  to  Bonaparte?  Don't  you  know  that  the 
troops  on  the  Place  Bellecour  refused  to  follow  Mac- 
donald?  Don't  you  know  that  the  Invader  is  carry- 
ing all  before  him?  What  are  you  and  your  twenty 
men  going  to  do?  You  will  lose  your  post  by  your 
foolishness,  Jacques  Girouette." 

"Simpleton!"  cried  the  Mayor.  "How  do  you 
know  I  am  going  to  find  twenty  men?  That's  what  I 
told  His  Royal  Highness.  Am  I  not  Girouette  the 
politician?  Have  I  not  lived  under  a  Monarchy,  a 
Republic,  a  Directory,  and  an  Empire?  I  was  not 
born  yesterday.  Keep  your  eye  on  me,  Madame,  and, 
in  a  crisis  like  the  present,  be  thankful  that  you  bear 
the  name  of  Girouette." 

"  Well,  don't  be  a  fool,"  answered  his  wife.  "  Man- 
age affairs  as  you  please,  but  come  out  of  it  with  a 
whole  skin  and  keep  your  post." 


MAYOR  GIROUETTE  289 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  Mayor's  study. 
"You  may  be  sure  I'll  do  that,"  said  M.  Jacques,  as 
they  entered.  "  Whichever  wins,  heads  or  tails,  Bona- 
parte or  Bourbon,  Girouette  will  keep  his  post."  The 
Mayor  put  on  his  greatcoat  and  his  hat  with  the  white 
cockade,  and  opening  the  drawer  of  his  desk  drew  out 
the  tricolored  one  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I'll  go  and  try  to  find  those 
twenty  men." 

"You  better  not  try  too  hard,  Jacques  Girouette," 
said  his  wife.  "You  will  get  into  trouble." 

"  Never  fear,  Madame,"  replied  the  Mayor.  "  The 
twenty  men  will  not  be  found,  but  none  shall  say  that 
Girouette  failed  in  his  duty  to  his  King." 

The  stout  Mayor  bustled  down  stairs  and  out  into 
the  street.  Never  had  he  felt  so  fully  the  importance 
of  his  position.  Lyons  was  now  the  point  in  which 
the  great  events  would  culminate.  He — Girouette — 
was  Mayor.  A  Royal  Prince  had  come  to  ask  his 
aid.  If  all  went  well  a  Most  Christian  King  would 
recognize  his  loyalty.  And  then?  Why  then  he 
might  become  the  Royal  Prefect  Girouette.  Happy 
thought!  If  on  the  other  hand  Bonaparte  should  tri- 
umph? Well,  he  would  know  how  to  give  him  a 
joyous  welcome  too.  He  would  know  how  to  display 
his  unswerving  fidelity.  And  then?  Why  then  he 
might  become  the  Imperial  Prefect  Girouette.  Again 
a  happy  thought!  Oh!  these  great  Kings  and  Em- 
perors. They  were  clever  and  acute,  no  doubt,  but 
they  were  no  match  for  Girouette  the  politician.  He 
had  always  felt  that  he  was  the  man  for  a  crisis.  For- 
tunate town  of  Lyons  to  have  him — Girouette — for 
Mayor! 
id 


2QO  THE  GRENADIER 

While  reflecting  upon  these  and  other  pleasant 
thoughts  of  a  kindred  nature,  he  reached  the  corner 
of  the  Cours  du  Midi.  There  he  saw  his  friend  M. 
Pourchot,  running  toward  him. 

"Great  news,  Monsieur  le  Maire!"  cried  Pourchot. 
"  The  Count  d'Artois  has  left  the  city.  Marshal  Mac- 
donald  met  him  in  the  Place  Bellecour,  told  him  that 
nothing  could  be  hoped  from  the  officers  as  well  as 
from  the  soldiers,  and  insisted  on  his  immediate  de- 
parture to  prevent  his  falling  into  Bonaparte's  hands. 
So  the  Count's  carriage  set  off  at  a  gallop,  escorted 
by  some  of  the  I4th  dragoons.  Everyone  is  now  pre- 
paring to  welcome  Bonaparte." 

"  Mon  Dieu !  "  cried  Mayor  Girouette,  "  I  must  lose 
no  time,"  and  he  set  off  for  the  Hotel  de  Ville  at  a 
trot.  As  he  hurried  along  he  pulled  off  his  hat  and 
thrust  the  white  cockade  into  his  pocket,  and  put  in 
its  place  the  tricolored  one.  On  the  Rue  du  Plat  he 
met  a  crowd  of  workmen  carrying  their  picks. 

"Vive  1'Empereur!"  bawled  M.  Girouette  as  loud 
as  he  could. 

"Vive  1'Empereur!"  shouted  the  workmen  tumul- 
tuously. 

The  Mayor,  breathless  and  panting,  came  in  sight 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Heavens!  there  was  the  white 
flag  of  the  Bourbons  flying  from  its  top.  This  would 
never  do.  Up  the  stairs  hurried  M.  Jacques  Girou- 
ette, ran  into  his  study  and  pulled  the  bell  violently. 
The  gendarme  Laserre  entered. 

"How  dare  you?"  cried  Mayor  Girouette  as  soon 
as  he  could  get  breath  enough  to  speak,  "  how  dare 
you  leave  that  vile  white  flag  flying?  Take  it  down!  " 

"  But,  Monsieur   le   Maire,"   cried   the   bewildered 


MAYOR  GIROUETTE  291 

gendarme,  "you  yourself  told  me  to  have  it  raised 
only  two  hours  ago." 

"Ass!  dolt!  idiot!"  roared  Mayor  Girouette. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  the  Bourbon  Prince  has  fled 
in  terror?  Don't  you  know  that  our  glorious  sov- 
ereign, the  great  Napoleon,  is  approaching  in  triumph 
from  Grenoble?  Get  out,  you  fool!  Put  up  the  tri- 
color at  once." 

Little  Fidele,  bounding  forward  from  the  fireplace, 
barked  joyfully,  and  stout  Mayor  Girouette  sat  down 
to  recover  his  breath.  Suddenly  some  one  was  heard 
running  along  the  Place  des  Terreaux  and  shouting 
"Vive  leRoi!" 

"  What!  what!  what!  "  cried  M.  Girouette,  springing 
up  and  thrusting  his  tricolored  cockade  into  a  small 
blue  vase  upon  the  table  beside  him.  "Who  cries 
Long  live  the  King?  " 

The  Mayor  hurried  to  the  window,  threw  it  up  and 
stuck  out  his  head.  "What  news?"  he  yelled. 

"  Bonaparte  is  beaten  back,"  cried  the  breathless 
messenger.  "  His  advance-guard  has  been  repulsed 
in  the  direction  of  La  Tour  du  Pin." 

"Long  live  the  King!"  shouted  the  Mayor,  draw- 
ing in  his  head.  M.  Jacques  hastened  across  the  room 
and  rang  his  bell,  and  soon  Laserre  entered. 

"The  Invader  Bonaparte  is  beaten  back,"  cried 
Mayor  Girouette,  adjusting  the  white  cockade  in  his 
hat,  "  Down  with  the  tricolor!  Hoist  the  white  flag 
of  our  glorious  sovereign  King  Louis  XVIII!" 

And  now,  after  so  much  exertion  and  such  unparal- 
leled activity,  surely  stout  Mayor  Girouette  was  enti- 
tled to  a  few  moments  repose.  He  stretched  himself 
in  his  armchair,  and  his  double  chin  soon  acquired  an 


292  THE  GRENADIER 

extra  fold  by  pressing  down  upon  his  high  black 
stock.  Little  Fidele  lay  again  before  the  fire,  and  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  alone  disturbed  the  stillness  of 
the  room.  The  worthy  Mayor  had  not  slept  more 
than  half  an  hour,  however,  when  the  door  burst  open, 
and  Madame  Girouette,  pale  and  excited,  rushed  into 
the  room  and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Up!  up,  man! "  she  cried,  "  Bonaparte  is  here!  " 

"  Long  live  the  King,"  said  M.  Girouette  drowsily. 

"Bonaparte!  Bonaparte!  man!"  shrieked  Madame 
Girouette,  shaking  him  violently,  "Bonaparte  is  here! 
His  advance-guard  has  passed  the  suburb  of  la  Guil- 
lotiere.  They  have  appeared  at  the  bridge.  The  offi- 
cers, the  soldiers,  the  people  are  raising  deafening 
shouts.  The  shakos  are  on  the  bayonets.  The  bar- 
ricades are  thrown  down.  Everyone  is  rushing  for- 
ward to  welcome  the  new  arrivals."  Little  Fidele 
barked  joyfully. 

"  Long  live  the  Emperor ! "  cried  Mayor  Girouette, 
starting  up,  seizing  his  hat  and  ringing  his  bell. 

"  Down  with  the  white  flag  and  up  with  the  tri- 
color!" he  roared  to  Laserre  as  he  met  him  in  the 
hall. 

Down  the  staircase  hurried  the  stout  Mayor  and 
Madame  his  wife.  The  people  were  rushing  from  ail 
quarters  crying  "Vive  1'Empereur!"  In  the  distance 
could  be  heard  the  strains  of  the  "  Marseillaise." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  man,"  shrieked  Madame  Girouette  as 
they  reached  the  doorway,  "your  cockade!" 

The  Mayor  snatched  off  his  hat.  Heavens!  there 
was  the  white  cockade  of  the  Bourbons.  Up  the  stair- 
case three  steps  at  a  time  ran  stout  Mayor  Girouette, 
dashed  into  his  study  and  sprang  to  his  desk.  The 


MAYOR  GIROUETTE  293 

tricolored  cockade  was  not  there!  Whisk  went  the 
papers  flying  in  all  directions  as  M.  Jacques  rummaged 
his  desk.  The  strains  of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  sounded 
louder  and  nearer.  They  were  corning! 

"  Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!  my  official  head!"  cried 
Mayor  Girouette,  careering  about  the  apartment. 
In  came  little  Fidele  barking  joyfully  and  ran  against 
his  legs.  "  Le  diable !  "  roared  Mayor  Girouette,  giv- 
ing poor  Fidele  a  terrific  kick  that  sent  him  flying 
across  the  room.  Crash  went  the  dog  into  a  little 
mahogany  table,  over  it  fell,  and  the  vase  upon  it  was 
broken  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  there  on  the  floor 
lay  the  much-sought-for  and  ardently-desired  tri- 
colored cockade!  "God  be  praised!"  cried  Mayor 
Girouette,  seizing  it  and  rushing  down  stairs.  Was 
he  in  time?  Yes,  there  they  were!  The  band  playing 
the  "  Marseillaise,"  the  people  shouting,  the  Emperor 
on  his  white  steed.  And  Mayor  Girouette,  panting, 
perspiring,  waved  above  his  head  his  hat  with  the 
tricolored  cockade  and  frantically  shouted — "  Long  life 
to  the  great  Napoleon !  Long  life  to  the  great  Napo- 
leon ! "  Up  in  the  study,  under  the  overturned  table, 
among  the  broken  glass  little  Fidele  lay  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
PARIS  AT  LAST! 

Hail  to  the  Chief,  who  in  triumph  advances! 

— SCOTT,  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

His  Majesty  King  Louis  XVIII  held  many  confer- 
ences during  the  early  days  of  March,  1815,  and  he 
asked  much  advice  from  Generals,  Ministers,  Marshals 
and  Princes.  And  some  that  he  got  was  bad,  some 
good,  and  some  indifferent.  But  upon  one  occasion 
he  heard  a  plain  truth,  and  this  was  the  nature  of  it. 

"  M.  Fouche,"  said  His  Majesty,  "  I  know  you  are 
a  man  of  great  ability.  Nobody  knows  France  better 
than  you,  and  no  one  ever  conducted  the  police  with 
greater  vigor.  Tell  me,  frankly,  what  is  your  opinion 
of  the  system  of  government  I  have  followed  ?  " 

"  My  opinion,  sire,"  replied  Fouche,  "  is  that  Your 
Majesty,  on  coming  to  the  government  of  France, 
ought  not  to  have  changed  anything  but  the  bed-linen 
of  the  Emperor."  Unfortunately  for  himself,  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty  had  changed  that  and  much 
beside. 

At  eleven  at  night  on  the  iQth  of  March1  the  royal 
traveling-carriages  rolled  into  the  courtyard,  and  His 
Majesty  left  in  haste  the  Tuileries  Palace,  where 
four  days  before  he  had  sworn,  in  presence  of  the 
Senate,  to  die  upon  his  throne.  He  did  so  in  the 


PARIS  AT  LAST  295 

end,  but  through  no  merit  of  his  own.  As  soon  as 
the  King  had  taken  his  departure,  the  servants  in 
livery  removed  the  portraits  of  the  Bourbons  from  the 
private  apartments,  rolled  the  stout  Louis's  chair  out 
of  the  Imperial  study,  stripped  the  fleurs-de-lis  from 
the  hangings  in  the  Salle  de  Marechaux  and  replaced 
the  bees;  the  National  Guards  in  the  Place  du  Carrou- 
sel tore  off  the  white  percale  from  their  tricolored 
cockades;  the  Imperial  chefs,  chamberlains,  ushers 
and  valets  donned  their  uniforms  and  resumed  their 
places;  Excelmans  raised  the  tricolor  above  the  Tuile- 
ries  dome ;  the  crowd  in  the  courtyard  shouted  "  Vive 
1'Empereur!  "  and  all  was  ready  for  triumphant 
Caesar. 

There  is  a  curious  old  house  in  Paris  at  No.  2 
Rue  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  It  is  four  stories  high. 
Over  the  windows  on  the  ground  floor  hangs  the 
sign,  "Vins,  Liqueurs";  over  the  windows  on  the 
second  floor  the  sign,  "Aux  Petites  Caves  du 
Louvre,"  and  over  the  windows  on  the  third,  in  larger 
letters  than  the  rest,  "Hotel  de  Bernay."  In  this 
house,  on  the  second  floor,  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
once  lived  and  wrote,  and  so  for  him  the  street 
was  named  Rue  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  Well,  on  the 
2Oth  of  March,  1815,  this  curious  old  house  stood  just 
as  it  stands  to-day,  save  that  it  was  not  called  "  Hotel 
de  Bernay,"  but  Hotel  de  Marbette.  It  was  a  great 
resort  for  hussars  and  grenadiers,  and  as  in  Grenoble, 
if  you  had  asked  a  soldier  who  it  was  who  kept  the 
best  liqueurs,  he  would  have  told  you  Henri  Jodelle  at 
the  Cafe  Jodelle,  so  in  Paris,  if  you  had  asked  a 
dashing  hussar  or  jack-booted  cuirassier  where  the 
best  drinks  were  to  be  had,  he  would  have  directed 


296  THE  GRENADIER 

you  to  the  jolly  host  of  the  Hotel  de  Marbette.  And 
a  lively  business  was  done  by  the  Hotel  de  Marbette 
on  the  2Oth  of  March,  1815.  From  morning  till  night 
the  wine-room,  on  the  ground  floor,  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  veterans  of  the  Grande  Armee,  all  drink- 
ing* gesticulating  and  talking  at  once.  And  as  may 
be  surmised,  there  was  but  one  topic  of  conversation — 
the  Emperor's  landing  at  Cannes  and  his  triumphal 
march  to  Paris. 

There  was  terror  in  the  Tuileries  Palace,  there  was 
alarm  in  official  circles,  there  was  uneasiness  in  Paris 
and  in  many  parts  of  France,  there  was  dismay  in 
Berlin,  there  was  consternation  in  Vienna,  but  there 
was  only  joy  in  the  Hotel  de  Marbette.  The  old 
veterans  knew  but  one  thing — the  Little  Corporal  was 
coming  back.  With  him  they  were  everything;  with- 
out him  they  were  nothing.  They  had  been  reduced 
in  pay,  degraded  in  rank,  politely  spit  upon  and 
kicked  out  of  doors  by  the  royal  government.  Their 
deeds  and  their  scars  were  forgotten,  and  they  had 
been  compelled  to  stand  aside  and  see  prance  before 
them  the  scions  of  a  defunct  nobility,  who  looked  at 
all  the  world  through  the  "  Hartwell  telescope,"  and 
wore  lightly  on  their  embroidered  breasts  that  cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor  to  earn  which  they  had  simply 
taken  the  trouble  to  breathe,  and  for  which  these 
scarred  warriors  had  shed  their  blood  at  the  Vistula, 
the  Niemen,  the  Danube,  the  Elbe  and  the  Rhine. 

But  now — wonder  of  wonders! — he  was  coming 
back  again.  Les  journees  de  la  gloire  reveniraient ! 
Once  more  the  tricolor  would  wave,  the  sabres  would 
flash,  the  trumpets  would  sound,  the  white  horse 
would  come  galloping  down  the  lines,  and  they  would 


PARIS  AT  LAST  297 

go,  an  pas  de  charge,  to  give  them  all — Bourbon,  Haps- 
burg,  Romanoff  and  Hohenzollern — as  Francois  Le- 
grand  put  it,  "  a  d d  good  licking."  What  won- 
der, then,  that  they  were  joyous.  What  wonder  that 
the  jolly  host  of  the  Hotel  de  Marbette  was  joyous 
too,  for  as  fast  as  he  opened  a  bottle  it  was  emptied, 
the  silver  clinked  on  the  table,  and  rolling  off,  lodged 
swiftly  in  the  pocket  of  the  jolly  host.  Under  such 
circumstances  he  would  be  a  queer  host  who  would 
not  be  joyous  and  pray  for  a  "  Return  from  Elba  " 
every  day. 

So  they  were  a  merry  company.  There  were  hus- 
sars in  their  brilliant  uniforms,  great  shakos  and  trail- 
ing sabres;  grenadiers  with  their  white  leggings,  belts 
and  bear-skin  caps;  cuirassiers  with  glittering  breast- 
plates; carabineers,  chevaux-legers  and  artillerymen. 
And  they  clinked  their  glasses  and  laughed  and  drank 
and  talked,  telling  stories  and  anecdotes  of  deeds  that 
were  done  in  camp  and  trench  and  at  the  cannon's 
mouth  at  Jena,  Eckmuhl,  Moscow,  Marengo,  the 
Pyramids  and  Aboukir.  If  you  had  been  there  with  a 
note-book  and  had  written  down  all  you  heard,  you 
would  have  had  stories  enough  to  write  books  for  a 
lifetime. 

Frangois  Legrand  was  the  centre  of  an  admiring 
group,  for  few  had  seen  so  much  as  Frangois.  Before 
him  on  the  table  was  an  enormous  bottle  of  strong 
red  wine,  from  which  he  filled  his  glass  from  time  to 
time.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  story.  It  had  come 
by  the  last  post,  and  was  an  excellent  one  too,  judg- 
ing by  the  expressions  on  the  faces  of  the  crowd  about 
the  table. 

"Yes,"  cried  Frangois,  "Macdonald  did  his  best, 


298  THE  GRENADIER 

but  he  couldn't  get  one  word  out  of  them — not  one. 
So  what  does  he  do  then?  He  sends  for  d'Artois  to 
come  and  talk  too.  Parbleu!  he  might  have  known 
if  they  wouldn't  cheer  for  him  they  wouldn't  cheer  for 
d'Artois." 

"D'Artois  wouldn't  even  come  to  see  the  Guard 
when  he  came  to  Paris,"  said  Gustave  Lebon,  setting 
down  his  glass. 

"  He  won't  want  to  see  us  soon  again,  I'm  think- 
ing," said  old  Barcoeur.  There  was  a  shout  of  assent 
to  that. 

"  So  d'Artois  comes,"  continued  Francois,  "  you 
know  how,  all  smiles  and  bows  and  feathers  and  lace, 
his  horse  jumping  up  and  down  and  playing  God 
knows  what  circus  tricks.  Not  a  cheer  did  he  get 
Sacre!  you  bet  your  biscuit  he  was  mad.  So  he  tries 
it  on  foot,  up  and  down  the  lines.  But  he  couldn't 
get  noise  enough  out  of  them  to  scare  a  gazelle,  and 
finally  he  comes  to  the  Guard.  What  does  he  do 
then?  He  goes  up  to  one  soldier  and  slaps  him  on 
the  back.  '  Surely  you,  a  brave  fellow,  will  cry  Long 
live  the  King!?  '  says  he.  And  who  did  he  ask  that  of, 
think  you?  Who  in  God's  name  did  he  ask  that  of?" 

"  Who  was  it?  "  cried  the  crowd. 

"Andre  Marceau!"  roared  Francois,  striking  the 
table  a  blow  that  made  the  bottle  and  glasses  jump. 

"  Mille  tonnerres!"  cried  stout  Benoit,  the  lieuten- 
ant, "  I'd  give  a  month's  pay  to  have  seen  Andre's 
face." 

"Well,  d'Artois  got  his  answer,"  said  Francois, 
" '  To  hell  with  the  Bourbons,'  or  words  to  that  effect, 
and  then  they  cried  '  Vive  1'Empereur! '  Ah,  the  fel- 
low who  was  at  Lyons  that  day  and  saw  that  sight  was 


PARIS  AT  LAST  299 

a  lucky  dog!  Imagine  Andre's  face  when  d'Artois 
says,  'You  will  cry  Long  live  the  King!?'  By  my 
sabre!  imagine  Andre's  face." 

"  Vive  Andre  Marceau !  "  shouted  the  crowd. 

"That's  right,"  cried  Francois,  "Vive  Andre  Mar- 
ceau! But  there's  others  here  who  would  have  done 
the  same  if  they  had  had  the  chance.  Come  now, 
fill  up  and  drink  this  toast,  Long  live  the  Imperial 
Guard!" 

"  Oui!  Oui! "  cried  all  the  rest,  jumping  up.  Old 
Barcoeur,  who  was  so  stiff  in  the  knees  that  he  could 
hardly  stand,  didn't  rise,  but  he  waved  his  glass  in 
the  air  and  drank  as  much  as  the  next.  When  he 
had  finished,  he  lowered  his  glass  and  said  solemnly, 
as  though  he  had  reached  the  conclusion  after  pro- 
found meditation,  "  D n  d'Artois  and  all  the  other 

Bourbons!  " 

"That's  it!"  cried  a  ringing  voice,  "D n 

d'Artois  and  all  the  other  Bourbons,  and  the  Prus- 
sians and  the  Austrians  and  the  Russians,  too! 
La  France  tou jours! " 

It  was  Pertelay,  Captain  of  the  Bercheny  Hussars. 
He  was  a  big  fellow,  Pertelay,  and  well  put  up.  He 
wore  his  shako  over  one  ear,  his  florid  countenance 
was  marred  by  an  enormous  scar,  his  mustaches,  half 
a  foot  long,  were  waxed  and  turned  up  to  his  ears, 
his  hair,  plaited  in  two  long  locks,  fell  from  under 
his  shako  upon  his  breast,  his  sabre  trailed  on  the 
floor.  A  typical  hussar  was  Pertelay — a  hard  drinker, 
a  brawler  always  ready  to  fight,  a  fellow  ignorant  of 
everything  that  did  not  concern  his  horse,  his  accou- 
trements and  his  service  in  the  field.  But  brave? — 
he  would  ride  a  toute  bride  at  the  cannon's  mouth  and 


300  THE  GRENADIER 

think  no  more  of  it  than  you  would  of  eating  a  hard- 
boiled  egg. 

"That's  it!"  cried  Pertelay,  who  had  just  come  in, 
elbowing  his  way  to  the  table  and  slapping  old  Bar- 

coeur  on  the  back,  "  D n  d'Artois!     Long  live  the 

Imperial  Guard!     Mes  amis,  the  Emperor  is  at  Fon- 
tainebleau.     He  is  expected  in  Paris  by  night." 

Francois  Legrand  threw  his  arms  about  Pertelay's 
neck  and  danced  up  and  down.  "  By  night?  by 
night?"  he  cried,  "To-night?  This  night?" 

"  This  night ! "  cried  Pertelay,  and,  freeing  himself 
from  Francois'  embrace,  he  filled  a  glass  from  the  big 
bottle,  then  jumping  on  a  chair,  he  beat  with  his  sabre 
on  the  table  to  silence  the  din  of  voices.  "Pertelay! 
Pertelay ! "  they  roared,  "  Vive  1'Empereur !  Vive 
Pertelay !  Vive  la  Garde  Imperiale !  "  Pertelay  con- 
tinued beating  the  table  with  his  sabre,  and  finally 
there  was  quiet.  Then  standing  erect  on  the  chair, 
he  held  his  glass  above  his  head  and  cried,  "  My 
friends,  I  have  a  toast  for  you.  The  health  of  him 
who  comes  to-night — the  Little  Corporal ! "  At  that 
they  roared  with  delight  for  five  minutes.  At  last, 
when  they  could  roar  no  more,  the  toast  was  drunk 
all  standing,  even  old  Barcoeur,  who  managed  in  some 
way  to  get  upon  his  legs — and  then  they  roared  again. 
God  help  the  Bourbon  royalist  who  put  his  nose  in 
at  the  Hotel  de  Marbette  at  that  minute! 

"  Come,  Pertelay,  we  want  a  song,"  cried  Francois 
Legrand.  "  We  want  to  hear  your  sweet  voice,  Per- 
telay." 

It  was  perhaps  excess  of  courtesy  to  call  Pertelay's 
voice  "  sweet,"  for  it  was  a  great  thundering  bass,  but 


PARIS  AT  LAST  301 

it  was  sweet  to  the  ears  of  those  who  listened,  and, 
after  all,  they  were  the  judges. 

"  And  what  will  you  have?  "  said  Pertelay.  He  was 
as  jolly  as  brave,  and  his  stock  of  songs  knew  no  end. 

"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie,"  said  an  old  grenadier  with 
black  hair  and  white  mustache — Floibert,  I  believe 
they  called  him. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Fra^ois,  "  we  want  a  song  with 
a  good  chorus.  We  all  want  to  come  in.  Sing  the 
song  we  all  know  well — The  Captain  Tarjeantirre." 

So  Pertelay  stood  on  a  chair  and  beat  time  with  his 
sword,  and  the  others  crowded  about  him.  And 
Pertelay  sang  the  verses  in  his  own  matchless  way, 
but  when  it  came  to  the  chorus  they  all  drew  their 
swords  and  held  their  glasses  high  and  made  the 
rafters  ring.  And  so  they  sung  the  martial  song, 
The  Captain  Tarjeantirre. 

"To  horse!  to  horse,  away!  To  horse!  to  horse,  away!" 
Then  up  we  sprang,  while  the  trumpet's  clang 

Was  sounding  deep  and  clear. 
The  month  was  May;  the  world  was  gay; 

We  rode  with  Tarjeantirre. 
"  Come,  fill  us  up  a  stirrup-cup, 

We'll  quaff  it  with  a  tear; 
Farewell,  fair  maids  of  Chenonceaux, 

Our  hearts  stay  with  you  here; 
Farewell,  best  loved  of  Chenonceaux, 

We  ride  with  Tarjeantirre!  " 

A  roving,  roaring,  rollicking  blade  was  the  Captain  Tarjeantirre, 

With  his  waxed  mustache  and  his  sabretache, 

And  his  laughing  black  eyes  clear; 

With  his  handsome  face  and  his  martial  grace, 

And  his  heart  that  knew  no  fear. 

The  beau  sabreur  of  the  Grande  Armee  was  the  Captain  Tar- 
jeantirre. 


302  THE  GRENADIER 

"To  horse!  to  horse,  away!   To  horse!  to  horse,  away!" 
Our  squadrons  came,  like  lines  of  flame, 

With  thund'ring  rush  and  roar; 

Carabineer,  and  cuirassier,  and  gleaming-gold  hussar. 
The  bridles,  rang;  the  sabres'  clang 

Was  music  to  our  ear; 
And  proud  were  we,  that  day,  to  be 

Behind  our  leader  dear. 
Yes,  proud  were  we  that  day  to  be 

The  train  of  Tarjeantirre. 

A  roving,  roaring,  rollicking  blade  was  the  Captain  Tarjeantirre, 

With  his  waxed  mustache  and  his  sabretache, 

And  his  laughing  black  eyes  clear; 

You  wonder  why  we  longed  to  die, 

And  faced  death  with  a  cheer? 
We  knew  our  captain  loved  his  men,  and  we  loved  Tarjeantirre. 

"To  horse!  to  horse,  away!   To  horse!  to  horse,  awayl" 
Ah!  ne'er  again  shall  sound  that  strain 

Upon  my  eager  ear; 
I've  had  my  day;  the  world  is  gray; 

Alas  for  Tarjeantirre! 
In  Jena's  dell  he  fighting  fell, 

But  still  I  hear  his  cheer: 
'Twas  "  En  avant!     Vive  1'Empereur! 

My  snow-white  plume  is  here!  " 
'Twas  "  En  avant!    Vive  1'Empereur! 

Who  dies  with  Tarjeantirre?" 

A  roving,  roaring,  rollicking  blade  was  the  Captain  Tarjeantirre, 

With  his  waxed  mustache  and  his  sabretache, 

And  his  laughing  black  eyes  clear; 

With  his  handsome  face  and  his  martial  grace, 

And  his  heart  that  knew  no  fear. 

The  beau  sabreur  of  the  Grande  Armee  was  the  Captain  Tar- 
jeantirre. 

The  chorus  ended  in  one  mighty  roar,  and  I  ven- 
ture to  say  the  old  house  in  the  Rue  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau  never  heard  anything  like  it  before  or  since. 


PARIS  AT  LAST  303 

Then  they  gave  three  cheers  for  the  Emperor,  three 
for  the  Imperial  Guard,  three  for  the  Bercheny  Hus- 
sars, three  for  Pertelay,  and  there  is  no  knowing  how 
long  they  would  have  continued,  but  they  saw  Gautier 
of  the  1 3th  cuirassiers  coming  in,  and  they  cried  out 
for  news.  Gautier  was  gruff  and  of  few  words. 
"  Ma  foi,"  said  he,  "  you  read  the  '  Moniteur,'  don't 
you?  The  news  is  short.  The  Tiger  has  escaped 
from  his  den.  The  Monster  was  three  days  at  sea. 
The  Brigand  has  landed  at  Cannes.  The  Invader  has 
arrived  at  Grenoble.  General  Bonaparte  has  entered 
Lyons.  Napoleon  slept  last  night  at  Fontainebleau. 
His  Imperial  Majesty  enters  the  Tuileries  this  day." 

So  it  was.  And  on  the  evening  of  the  2oth  of 
March  the  faqade  of  the  Tuileries  was  lighted  from  the 
Marsan  Pavilion  to  the  Pavilion  of  Flora,  while  in  the 
Salle  de  Marechaux  the  Queen  Hortense,  the  Arch- 
chancellor  Cambaceres,  Count  Regnault  de  Saint-Jean 
d'Angely,  ministers,  prefects,  generals,  colonels,  court- 
ladies,  senators  and  officials  of  one  kind  or  another 
awaited  the  Emperor's  arrival. 

At  a  quarter  to  nine  a  carriage  came  at  a  gallop 
along  the  Quai  of  the  Tuileries,  surrounded  by  hun- 
dreds of  officers  from  all  the  cavalry  corps,  riding 
venire  &  terre,  waving  torches  and  shaking  the  night 
with  thunder-pealing  vociferations.  Across  the  Place 
du  Carrousel  they  dashed,  under  the  Arch  of  Triumph, 
and  halted  with  snorting  horses,  flashing  bridles,  jing- 
ling spurs,  clattering  sabres  and  peals  of  exultation 
before  the  Tuileries  Palace.  The  carriage  door  was 
flung  open,  and  the  ministers,  senators,  prefects,  gen- 
erals and  marshals,  pouring  down  the  grand  staircase, 
beheld  Napoleon,  borne  aloft  above  the  heads  of  the 


304  THE  GRENADIER 

excited  throng,  who,  to  his  repeated  exclamation, 
"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  let  me  walk!" — returned  no 
other  answer  than  "  Vive  1'Empereur!  "  And  so  up 
the  grand  staircase,  through  the  Salle  de  Marechaux 
and  the  Gallerie  de  Diane,  wearing  his  petit  chapeau 
and  his  travel-stained  gray  greatcoat,  surrounded  by 
tumultuous  shouts  and  glittering  uniforms  and  wav- 
ing handkerchiefs  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  the  great 
Imperial  Conqueror  was  borne  to  the  doors  of  his 
apartment.  And  thus  was  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of 
the  Imperial  bulletin :  "  La  victoire  marchera  au  pas 
de  charge.  L'Aigle  avec  les  Couleurs  Nationales 
volera  de  clocher  en  clocher,  jusqu'aux  tours  de  Notre 
Dame !  "  And  thus  was  Louis-Stanislas-Xavier  de 
Bourbon  dethroned,  and  thus  was  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon re-established,  to  reign — one  hundred  days. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
A  WATERLOO 

To  arms!  to  arms!  ye  men  of  might; 

Away  from  home,  away; 
The  first  and  foremost  in  the  fight 

Are  sure  to  win  the  day! 

— BENJAMIN,  To  Arms. 

CAPTAIN  PIERRE  PASOUIN  had  followed  the  Emperor 
on  his  surprisingly  triumphant  march  from  Grenoble 
to  Paris,  and  then,  after  the  Guard  had  been  reorgan- 
ized, he  was  stationed  for  a  time  in  barracks  at  Cour- 
bevoie.  There  were  three  battalions  at  the  barracks 
and  every  month  a  battalion  took  its  turn  on  duty  in 
Paris.  The  duty  was  an  active  one  too — eight  hours 
on  guard,  two  hours  on  patrol,  and  the  grand  rounds 
at  night.  But  as  may  be  surmised,  a  captain  did  not 
have  all  that. 

On  the  4th  of  June  they  were  ordered  to  Avesnes, 
and  on  the  I3th  they  advanced  to  Charleroi.  It  was 
a  glorious  morning  when  they  left  Avesnes,  one  of 
those  mornings  when  the  blood  leaps  lightly,  the  heart 
beats  hopefully,  and  nature  sings  her  paeans.  The 
grenadiers  wound  along  the  road,  a  long  blue  line 
checkered  by  white  belts  and  shaded  by  tassel-tossing 
shakos.  The  crests  of  the  cuirassiers  flared  crimson 
and  their  corselets  burned  and  blazed;  the  white- 
horsed  artillery  racked  and  rumbled ;  the  chevaux-tegers 
with  light  hoofs  champed  the  highway;  while  in  the 
20 


306  THE  GRENADIER 

van,  rubricking  the  green  horizon  with  a  dash  of  gold 
and  blood,  rode  those  glorious,  dauntless  braggarts, 
the  Bercheny  Hussars.  Pierre  watched  their  flutter- 
ing pennons,  now  lost  amid  the  boughs  and  branches 
of  the  ravine,  now  war-welcoming  upon  the  white 
road  of  the  ridge.  From  time  to  time  their  song 
swelled  to  him,  and  his  heart  caught  the  cadence : 

Strap  the  saddles!  bit  the  bridles!  toss  the  fetlocks  in  the  sun! 
Let  the  clarions  loudly  clamor!  let  the  bugles  sternly  stun! 
Like  the  banging,  bellowing  bison  now  we  roaring  ramping 

run, 
And  we'll  fight  for  fame  with  fury  for  the  great  Napoleon. 

En  avant  the  voltigeurs!  en  avant  the  grenadiers! 
En  avant  the  chevaux-legers !  en  avant  the  cuirassiers! 
For  our  mighty  monarch  militant  bids  us  dashing  daring  don, 
And  we'll  glut  our  graves  with  glory  for  the  great  Napoleon. 

Strap  the  saddles!  bit  the  bridles!  toss  the  fetlocks  in  the  sun! 
Let  the  clarions  loudly  clamor!  let  the  bugles  sternly  stun! 
Like  the  banging,  bellowing  bison  now  we  roaring  ramping 

run, 
And  we'll  war  with  hell  or  heaven  for  the  great  Napoleon. 

"  Francois,"  cried  Pierre,  "  the  Bercheny  have  it! 
The  Emperor  or  death !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Frangois,  shifting  his  quid,  "we  want 
the  Little  Corporal.  Europe  says  No.  To  hell  with 
Europe ! " 

A  statesman  would  have  expressed  it  differently,  but 
Frangois  was  no  statesman. 

Thus  these  brave  fellows,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  hearts,  epic  in  fidelity  to  the  man  who  spent 
their  lives,  marched — to  Waterloo.  Plain  of  Belgium 
near  Brussels,  the  deeds  done  on  you  upon  the  i8th  of 


A  WATERLOO  307 

June,  1815,  have  made  you  world-famous  through  all 
ages.  For  England  you  are  a  synonym  of  glory, 
triumph  and  "  king-making  victory,"  and  they  call 
you — Waterloo.  For  France  you  are  a  synonym  of 
ruin,  rout,  annihilation,  and  chaos  universal,  and  they 
call  you — Mont  St.  Jean. 

"  And  while,  in  fashion  picturesque, 

The  poet  rhymes  of  blood  and  blows, 
The  grave  historian  at  his  desk 
Describes  the  same  in  classic  prose." 

And  so  of  you  great  men  have  writ  and  poets  sung. 
And  through  the  pages  of  Sibourne,  Charras,  Chesney, 
Jomini,  Alison,  Ropes,  Thiers,  and  Dorsey  Gardner — 
through  the  mighty  Hugo's  "  Les  Miserables,"  and 
the  "  Childe  Harold  "  of  that  great  "  Napoleon  of  the 
realms  of  Rhyme,"  George  Gordon,  world-thrilling 
as  Lord  Byron — the  earthquaking  shouts  of  your  con- 
tending hosts  resound.  Read  them,  good  reader,  if 
you  would  see  Napoleon  on  the  heights  at  Ligny,  or 
Ney  at  Quatre-Bras,  or  Jerome's  battalions  battling  at 
Hougomont,  or  the  Scotch  Grays  charging,  or  the 
brave  Picton  Brigade  under  fire,  or  the  "  Iron  Duke  " 
holding  his  wavering  lines,  or  the  wildly-dashing  on- 
sets of  the  Imperial  cuirassiers,  or  the  Old  Guard,  with 
their  "  Ave!  Caesar  Imperator,  morituri  te  salutamus," 
making  their  "  vainly-glorious  charge." 

Waterloo!  Who  thinks  of  it  as  a  victory?  It  has 
become  a  synonym  for  defeat,  because  the  vanquished 
was  greater  than  the  victor. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
FACE  TO  FACE! 

La  fortune  est  toujours  pour  les  gros  bataillons. 

— S£VIGN£. 

WHAT  has  become  of  Jean  Deteau  whom  we  last  saw 
in  the  carriage  of  M.  de  Vaudrecourt,  procureur- 
du-roif  He  had  transformed  himself  into  a  Bona- 
partist  again  by  the  time  he  reached  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  and  through  the  influence  of  two  friends  in 
Paris — MM.  de  Vilette  and  de  Romontte — he  got 
himself  appointed  to  the  staff  of  General  de  Bour- 
mont,  an  ancient  royalist,  who  had  been  vouched  for 
by  the  Marshal  Ney.  The  Marshal  found  himself 
mistaken  in  his  protege,  however,  for  at  the  opening 
of  the  campaign,  de  Bourmont  deserted  to  the  enemy, 
carrying  all  his  staff  with  him. 

"  Eh  bien !  Monsieur  le  Marechal,  what  have  you  to 
say  for  your  General  de  Bourmont?  "  said  the  Em- 
peror when  he  heard  the  news. 

"  I  would  have  vouched  for  him  as  for  myself, 
sire." 

"  Blue  is  always  blue  and  white  is  always  white," 
replied  His  Majesty. 

Nor  did  de  Bourmont  and  his  staff  receive  a  cordial 
greeting  from  the  Prussians,  for  the  blunt  von  Bliicher, 
when  an  aide-de-camp  called  his  attention  to  de  Bour- 
mont and  his  white  cockade,  exclaimed,  "  Einerlei, 


FACE  TO  FACE  309 

was  das  Volk  fur  einen  Zettel  ansteckt,  Hundsfott 
bleibt  Hundsfott!"  ("All  the  same,  whatever  ticket 
one  stitches  on  him,  a  scoundrel  stays  a  scoundrel!") 
And  this  remark  of  the  plain-spoken  Bliicher  applies 
not  only  to  de  Bourmont,  but  to  Jean  Deteau  as  well. 
After  the  battle  of  Ligny  on  the  i6th  of  June  the 
Marshal  Grouchy  was  sent  with  30,000  men  to  follow 
up  the  Prussians,  while  the  Emperor  Napoleon  with 
the  balance  of  his  army  pursued  the  English  on  the 
1 7th  to  the  heights  of  Mont  St.  Jean,  where  they  halted 
to  give  him  battle  on  the  morrow,  Sunday,  the  i8th 
day  of  June.  At  half-past  one  the  battle  began  when 
the  Emperor  from  his  position  at  La  Belle  Alliance 
ordered  forward  the  corps  of  D'Erlon.  Then  the 
action  became  general,  and  erelong  Hougomont  was 
torn  and  riddled  by  balls,  La  Haye  Sainte  and  Pape- 
lotte  the  scenes  of  bloody  conflicts,  and  Mont  St  Jean 
a  hill  of  fire.  But  at  three  o'clock,  instead  of  Grouchy 
whom  the  French  Emperor  expected,  came  the  Prus- 
sians whom  he  did  not,  and  the  corps  of  Biilow  attack- 
ed Planchenoit  on  the  right  and  rear  to  cut  the  French 
line  of  retreat.  The  Prussians  drove  back  and  forced 
out  of  Planchenoit  the  6th  corps  of  Lobau  and  the 
Young  Guard  with  its  three  batteries.  Then  His 
Majesty  sent  three  battalions  of  the  Old  and  Middle 
Guard  with  two  batteries  to  retake  the  town.  He 
could  send  no  more,  for  the  rest  of  the  Guard  was 
forming  for  the  great  attack  on  the  English  lines — 
those  lines  which  had  not  been  broken  despite  the  furi- 
ous charges  of  the  now  foaming,  bloody,  breathless, 
hors  de  combat  Imperial  cuirassiers.  The  three  bat- 
talions advanced  on  Planchenoit  and  it  was  a  quarter 
to  seven  in  the  evening.  Pierre  was  at  the  head  of 


310  THE  GRENADIER 

his  company,  sword  in  hand,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
second  company  marched  Franqois  Legrand  with  his 
sword  in  his  hand  likewise.  And  so  they  charged  on, 
their  batteries  advancing  before  them  and  answering 
the  Prussian  fire  with  a  storm  of  shot  and  shell.  They 
drove  the  Prussians  out  of  Planchenoit  and  supported 
the  Young  Guard,  but  the  Prussians,  reinforced  by  the 
corps  of  Pirch  I,  advanced-  again.  The  farmhouses 
of  Planchenoit  were  burning  now,  the  cannonade 
shook  their  foundations,  and  the  Prussians  came  in 
force,  shouting  madly  through  the  smoke  and  flame. 

And  if  you  had  been  in  Planchenoit  that  night  you 
would  have  seen  blazing  timbers,  smoking  roofs, 
loading,  firing,  bayoneting,  slashing,  stabbing,  charg- 
ing; you  would  have  heard  noises,  air-filling,  sky- 
rending,  clangorous,  thundering,  deafening,  piercing, 
trumpet-tongued,  multisonous;  you  would  have  wit- 
nessed sights  terrible,  terrific,  tremendous;  you  would 
have  beheld  deeds  shocking,  revolting,  appalling,  gal- 
lant, courageous,  intrepid,  valorous,  high-spirited, 
chivalrous,  magnificent,  homage-compelling,  world- 
inspiring! 

And  as  they  fought  thus,  those  grenadiers  of  France, 
they  heard  a  shout  which  swelled  ever  louder  and 
louder  from  the  plain  of  Waterloo  until  it  was  dis- 
tinguishable amid  the  thunder  of  the  cannon  and  the 
shock  of  charging  hosts — "  The  Guard  recoils !  the 
Guard  recoils ! "  And  then  another  even  more  terrific, 
"  Sauve  qui  peut !  Sauve  qui  peut !  " 

Did  they  know  what  it  meant  for  them,  those  grena- 
diers in  Planchenoit?  Yes,  they  knew.  If  they  would 
prevent  the  Prussians  from  rushing  in  upon  the  rear 
of  the  French  army  as  it  fell  back  from  Waterloo, 


FACE  TO  FACE  311 

there  they  must  stand,  there  they  must  fight,  there 
and  there  only  must  they  die! 

"' Mille  tonnerres!"  roared  Francois  Legrand,  his 
cap  gone,  his  hair  singed  with  fire,  his  eyes  bloodshot, 
"  En  avant!  en  avant!  " 

"Forward!  Forward!"  cried  Pierre,  his  uniform 
torn  and  rent,  his  scabbard  gone,  his  forehead  bleed- 
ing, his  eyes  flashing  wildly,  "Charge  them,  I  say! 
Charge  them!  Sacre!  but  they  shall  rest  in  hell  before 
we  go! " 

So  they  dashed  on,  but  at  every  step  the  Prussian 
fire  cut  their  ranks  and  strewed  them  like  leaves — 
bloody  leaves  indeed! — upon  the  ground.  They 
foamed  and  fought,  but  the  fire  raked  them  and  raked 
them  clean.  They  were  only  a  handful  now,  but  they 
stood  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  through  the  drifting 
smoke  the  Prussians  saw  their  eyes  gleaming  and 
heard,  weaker  in  volume  but  with  the  same  ring  and 
awe-compelling  power  of  days  long  passed  by,  their 
defiance — "Vive  1'Empereur!" 

Mark  them,  good  reader,  as  they  stand  there,  that 
little  band — Pierre  Pasquin,  Francois  Legrand,  Andre 
Marceau,  Gustave  Lebon,  Gerard  Etienne  and  forty 
more — coarse,  rough  men  the  most  of  them,  it  is  true, 
but  in  their  eyes  is  courage,  in  their  mouths  truth,  in 
their  hearts  loyalty!  Of  how  many,  more  refined  than 
they,  can  you  say  that? 

Then  a  cannon-ball  came,  tearing  away  Francois 
Legrand's  right  arm  so  that  it  hung  only  by  bleeding, 
quivering  shreds.  But  as  the  Prussian  cavalry  charged 
he  wrenched  that  mangled  limb  loose  from  his  bloody 
shoulder  and  hurled  it  at  the  Prussians  and  cried, 
"Vive  1'Empereur!"  They  came  with  a  dash,  that 


312  THE  GRENADIER 

Prussian  cavalry,  and  among  the  first,  on  a  proudly 
galloping  horse,  rode  an  officer  who  waved  his  sword 
and  shouted,  "  No  quarter  for  these  wretches!  "  And 
as  he  spoke,  he  drew  rein  and  plunged  his  sabre 
through  the  brave  heart  of  helpless  Franqois  Legrand. 
Pierre  saw  him  as  he  came  and  he  gave  a  great  cry — 
"  My  God!  it  is  Jean  Deteau! "  With  a  bound  and  a 
spring  he  seized  that  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  he  roared.  "It  is  Pasquin! 
Pierre!" 

"  D n  you !  "  the  black  eyes  blazed  defiance. 

At  the  same  instant  Pierre  struck  him  with  his 
sword  with  such  force  that  Deteau's  head,  half  cut  off, 
fell  forward,  blood  gushed  from  his  mouth,  and  his 
cocked  hat  rolled  on  the  ground.  Then  a  shot  struck 
Deteau's  horse  and  it  fell,  bearing  Pierre  down  with 
it,  and  all  was  darkness. 

Along  the  road  to  Genappe,  on  the  panting,  foam- 
flecked  steed  Marengo,  with  Montholon  on  one  side 
and  Bertrand  on  the  other,  in  the  midst  of  a  howling 
mass  of  fugitives,  fled  Napoleon.  With  him,  more 
truly  than  with  Francis  I  at  Pavia,  "  All  was  lost  but 
honor."  For  France  the  Heroic  Age  had  ended;  the 
Reign  of  the  Commonplace  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
GRENOBLE 

Parlez-nous  de  lui. 
— BfeRANGER,  Souvenirs  du  Peuple. 

TWENTY-FIVE  years  have  passed  away.  The  turf 
grows  green  on  Waterloo,  and  the  Belgian  Lion  on 
the  Memorial  Mount  stands  the  silent  guardian  of  an 
"  Empire's  dust."  And  kings  have  come  and  kings 
have  gone.  Louis  XVIII  has  ended  his  career  in 
his  state  bed  at  the  Tuileries  Palace,  and  Monsieur, 
the  once  gay  d'Artois,  has  had  his  day  also  as  Charles 
X,  and  been  forced  to  abdicate  and  flee  in  the  July 
days  of  1830.  And  now  we  are  in  the  reign  of  the 
ci-devant  Duke  of  Orleans,  at  present  the  "  Citizen 
King,"  Louis  Philippe  I.  "  C'est  le  treizieme!  "  ("  It 
is  the  thirteenth!")  said  M.  de  Talleyrand  as  he  took 
the  oath  to  Louis  Philippe.  And  no  doubt  the  Devil 
thought  that  was  a  good  number  with  which  to  stop, 
for  he  gathered  M.  de  Talleyrand  in,  not  long  after. 
And  so  M.  de  Talleyrand  departed  this  life,  leaving 
behind  him  a  large  fortune  and  an  unpleasant  odor. 

And  what  has  become  of  our  friends  in  Grenoble? 
Come,  then,  to  the  Cafe  Jodelle  and  see.  Who  is 
that  old  man  seated  by  the  fire,  holding  that  bright- 
eyed  little  girl  upon  his  knee,  and  with  that  plainly- 
dressed  but  fair-faced  woman  standing  beside  him? 
That  old  man  is  grand-pere  Pasquin,  once  Captain 


3H  THE  GRENADIER 

Pierre  Pasquin  of  the  Garde  Imperiale,  once  the  boy 
Pierre  of  the  Rue  Montorge.  Old  man?  you  say. 
Why,  he  is  not  so  very  old;  he  is  about  fifty  now. 
True,  but  he  is  old  before  his  time.  The  years  gone 
by  have  been  hard  ones  and  their  marks  remain.  He 
lost  a  leg  at  Waterloo.  The  horse  which  fell  on  him, 
in  that  wild  night  of  ruin  and  Empire-destroying  con- 
vulsion, crushed  it,  and  when  he  was  found  a  day  later 
and  brought  in  by  the  peasant  Piramme,  who  returned 
to  his  ruined  home  in  Planchenoit,  the  leg  had  to  come 
off.  There  was  a  bayonet  wound  which  he  received 
in  the  chest  that  left  its  mark  also,  and  for  years  he 
could  not  use  a  hoe  or  spade  without  coughing  fits. 
And  yet  he  wanted  so  much  to  use  the  spade  and  hoe, 
for  there  was  a  garden  in  which  he  was  much  inter- 
ested. 

And  who  is  that  fair-faced  woman  beside  him? 
That  is  Josephine,  the  little  Josephine,  grown  to  be  a 
woman  now,  and  such  a  helpful  one.  And  the 
bright-eyed  child?  Ah!  that  is  the  best  of  all.  That 
is  Susanne,  the  little  Susanne,  who  looks  just  as  Jose- 
phine did  in  the  days  gone  by.  And  why  should  she 
not?  for  she  is  Josephine's  daughter  and  her  father  is 
Gaspard — no  longer  the  little  Gaspard,  but  Gaspard 
the  vigorous,  Gaspard  the  hard-working,  Gaspard  the 
devoted,  Gaspard  the  prosperous,  who  cares  for  the 
garden  in  which  grand-pere  Pasquin  takes  such  in- 
terest, and  sells  vegetables  from  it  in  the  Pasquin 
epicerie  in  the  Rue  Montorge,  and  manages  also  the 
Cafe  Jodelle  upon  the  Place  Grenette. 

And  Marie,  why  is  she  not  here?  Ah!  that  is  the 
sad  part  of  the  story.  Marie  is  yonder  in  the  ceme- 
tery of  Grenoble,  with  the  mere  Pasquin  on  one  side 


GRENOBLE 


315 


of  her  and  the  pere  Henri  on  the  other.  And  at  her 
head  is  a  white  stone  which  has  but  one  word, 
"  Marie,"  and  at  her  feet  are  flowers  placed  there  every 
Sunday  by  the  little  Susanne,  and  at  her  side  the  turf 
is  worn  away  where  the  old  grenadier  is  wont  to  come 
and  kneel.  So  Marie  has  gone,  but  her  picture  above 
the  mantel  has  a  wreath  of  flowers,  and  her  influence 
lives  with  them  always,  and  will  till  life  shall  end. 

And  on  the  wall  of  the  sitting-room  in  the  Cafe 
Jodelle  hangs  the  sabre  of  honor  which  was  once 
brave  Philippe  Courteau's;  for  Philippe,  when  he 
passed  away,  left  it  by  his  will  to  grand-pere  Pasquin, 
and  these  were  the  words  with  which  he  left  it,  "To 
him  who  is  worthy  of  it — Pierre  Pasquin."  Now  that 
was  a  kind  thought  and  a  fitting  one.  And  under  the 
sabre  of  honor  hangs  the  certificate  of  the  Garde 
Municipale  de  Grenoble,  and  to  this  the  old  soldier  often 
turns  his  eyes.  And  you  were  promised  long  ago 
that  you  should  see  it,  and  here  it  is. 

GARDE  MUNICIPALE  DE  GRENOBLE 

SERVICES  DE  M.  PASQUIN  (PIERRE),  CAPITAINE. 

NE  A  GRENOBLE  (DEPARTEMENT  DE  L'ISERE)  LE  2  JANVIER,  1791, 

FII.S  D'AMAND  BT  DE  JEANNE-LOUISE. 


GRADES 

SUCCESSIFS 

CORPS  DANS  LESQUELS  IL  A 
8BRVI 

DATES 
DE8  PROMOTIONS  A 
CHAQUE  GRADE 

Enrolc  volontaire 
Serpent  

115*  r6g   de  la  ligne  

5  Janvier,  1809 
2  feVrier,  1810 
8  septembre,  1813 
28  decembre,  1812 
22  mai,  1818 
26  aout,  1818 

3e  r£g.  de  la  Garde  I  mperiale 
id. 
id. 
id. 
id. 

Serpent-  major  .  .  . 
Sous-lieutenant  .. 
Lieutenant  

Capitaine  

THE  GRENADIER 

CAMPAGNES  DANS  CHAQUE  GKADE 


ANNEES 

ARMEES 

GENERAUX  EN  CHEF 
QUI  LES 
COMMANDAIENT 

ACTIONS  D'ECLAT 
OU  SEBVICES  SIGNALES 

1809 

Espagne  .  .  . 

Mar6chal  due  de 
Montebello  

Blesse  d'un  coup  de  feu 

1809 

Allemagne 
et  Autriche 

L'Empereur  

a  Saragosse. 
Bless6  d'un  coup  de  bai- 

1812 

Russie  

id.             

onnette  a  la  bataille 
d'Essling,     22     mai, 
1809. 
11  sauva  le  colonel  Hu- 

1813 

Saxe  et 
Prusse.  .  . 

id.             

lot  a   la   bataille   de 
Wagram,     6    juillet, 
1809. 
A    pris    un   drapeau    & 

1814 

France  .... 

id.             

1'ennemi   en   septem- 
bre  1812,  &  la   Mos- 
cowa. 
Bless£  d'un  coup  de  feu 

1815 

Waterloo  .  . 

id.             

a  la  bataille  de  Dresde, 
26  aout,  1813. 
Bless6  d'un  coup  de  bai- 

onnette  a  la  bataille 
de  Waterloo,  18  juin, 
1815. 

Observations,  litres  et  Decorations.    Legionnaire,  2  f^vrier,  1810. 

So  it  hangs,  in  its  official  dryness,  a  record  of  self- 
sacrifice,  fatigue,  privation,  courage,  valor,  loyalty;  a 
record  of  which  he  who  made  it  and  they  who  look 
daily  at  it  may  feel  justly  proud. 

Now  if  there  is  one  thing  which  children  enjoy  more 
than  another  it  is  a  story.  And  who  could  tell  stories 
like  grand-pere  Pasquin? — wonderful  grand-pere 
Pasquin  who  had  been  everywhere  and  seen  everything, 
they  thought,  and  had  spoken  to  kings  and  queens, 
and  had  been  in  the  great  wars  and  at  the  famous 


GRENOBLE  317 

battles,  which  were  printed  in  large  letters  in  the 
school  histories,  and,  best  of  all,  had  been  decorated 
by  the  great  Emperor  whose  picture  was  in  every 
house  in  Grenoble,  and  whose  glass  and  the  cup 
which  he  had  used  at  the  Trois  Dauphins  were  still 
preserved  there  by  the  good  M.  Fontlebelle  who 
owned  it  now.  So  in  the  winter  evenings  they  would 
gather  about  the  white  wooden  fireplace  in  the  Cafe 
Jodelle — little  Susanne  and  her  friends,  Louise, 
Adolphe,  Jules,  Octave  and  Jeannette — and  they 
would  come  and  stand  about  grand-pere  Pasquin's 
chair  and  say,  like  Beranger's  children  in  the  "  Souve- 
nirs du  Peuple,"  "  Parlez-nous  de  lui,"  ("  Tell  us  of 
him  "). 

Well,  grand-pere  Pasquin  was  always  ready  to  tell 
them,  for  he  was  fond  of  them  all,  and  so  he  would 
take  the  little  Susanne  on  his  knee,  and  while  Louise 
sat  upon  a  stool  and  Jeannette  stood  beside  the  chair 
and  Adolphe  and  Jules  sat  upon  the  floor,  looking  up 
with  large,  interested  eyes,  and  young  Octave  now  and 
then  poked  the  fire,  the  grand-pere  Pasquin  would  live 
his  past  again.  One  night  when  they  were  all  so 
gathered,  this  was  the  story  he  told  them. 

"  Now,  mes  enfants,"  said  he,  "  do  you  all  remember 
Andre  Marceau?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  do  remember  him,"  said  Susanne, 
"  he  was  a  nice  man." 

"  And  who  was  other  nice  man  with  big  mustache, 
grand-pere?"  said  small  Louise. 

"  Oh !  that  was  Frangois  Legrand ! "  cried  Octave. 
"  I  remember  him  well.  He  went  with  grand-pere 
over  the  walls  at  Essling." 

"That  is  right,  Octave,"  said  grand-pere  Pasquin. 


3i8  THE  GRENADIER 

"  It  is  fine  that  you  all  remember  so  well.  Now  you 
shall  hear  of  Andre  Marceau.  You  must  know  that 
Andre  and  I  marched  side  by  side  for  a  long  time,  and 
we  ate  soup  out  of  the  same  pot,  and  there  is  nothing 
like  that  for  friendship,  for  the  Emperor  used  to  say 
that  those  soldiers  who  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  the 
best  in  battle  were  those  who  had  eaten  their  soup 
together  for  a  long  time.  Now,  one  day  my  friend 
Andre  Marceau  got  into  trouble,  and  this  is  how  it 
was.  We  were  in  Germany,  and  in  one  of  the  towns 
we  had  captured  was  a  fine  avenue  which  was  nearly 
ruined  by  our  cavalry.  Now,  to  prevent  more  dam- 
age being  done,  the  Emperor  stationed  guards  with 
orders  to  allow  no  one  to  pass.  One  of  these  guards 
was  Andre  Marceau." 

"  Did  Andre  Marceau  have  large  mustache  like 
Fran9ois?"  inquired  Louise. 

"  Be  quiet,  Louise,"  said  Susanne,  "  Andre  Marceau 
was  a  nice  man." 

"  Pretty  soon  along  came  General  Vandamme. 
'  Halt ! '  cried  Andre.  '  Sacre ! '  cried  General  Van- 
damme, '  what  do  you  mean? '  '  No  one  can  pass,' 
said  Andre.  '  Indeed ! '  cried  Vandamme,  '  Learn, 
fool,  that  General  Vandamme  passes  anywhere.  Take 
that  for  your  impertinence ! '  And  General  Van- 
damme struck  Andre  with  his  riding-whip." 

"  Oh !  I  do  not  like  General  Vandamme,"  cried 
Louise.  "  He  was  not  a  nice  man." 

"  Be  quiet,  Louise,"  said  Susanne.  "  You  shall 
hear." 

"  Now  as  soon  as  General  Vandamme  had  done 
that,"  continued  grand-pere  Pasquin,  "  Andre  Mar- 
ceau, who  was  big  and  strong,  knocked  him  down, 


GRENOBLE  319 

and  there  was  the  great  General  Vandamme  with  his 
plumed  hat  and  all,  lying  on  the  ground." 

"  Good !  good !  "  cried  Adolphe. 

"  Be  quiet,  Adolphe,"  said  Susanne. 

"  Well,  you  may  imagine  that  there  was  trouble 
then.  Poor  Andre  was  arrested  and  shut  up  in  the 
citadel,  and  General  Vandamme  was  going  to  hold  a 
court-martial  and  have  Andre  shot,  for  when  one 
strikes  his  superior  officer  it  is  no  slight  matter  which 
two  days  in  the  guard-house  will  rectify.  Now  it  so 
happened  that  the  Emperor  returned  that  night  to  the 
town,  and  on  passing  the  citadel  he  saw  a  string  hang- 
ing out  of  a  window  with  a  piece  of  paper  on  which 
was  written  '  Pardon !  pardon ! ' ' 

"  Now,  who  had  written  that?  "  cried  small  Louise. 

"Why,  Andre  Marceau,  of  course,"  said  Octave. 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Susanne. 

"  So  the  Emperor  said,  '  Find  out  what  that  means 
and  have  the  man  brought  before  me  on  parade.* 
There  was  a  parade  next  day,  and  when  the  Emperor 
came  walking  along  to  our  company,  Andre  Marceau 
went  down  on  his  knees  and  remained  there.  The 
Emperor  stopped  short  and  asked  the  meaning  of 
this.  Our  colonel  said  it  was  the  soldier  who  had 
asked  pardon  in  the  citadel,  and  that  when  intoxicated 
he  had  struck  a  superior  officer.  You  see  the  colonel 
was  a  friend  of  General  Vandamme,  and  so  he  said 
Andre  was  intoxicated  and  did  not  give  the  real 
cause." 

"  He  was  a  bad  colonel,"  said  Louise. 

"  Now,  as  you  know,  Andre  Marceau  was  not  in- 
toxicated, for  though  he  often  drank,  he  was  not 
drunk  then,  nor  ever  that  I  know  of,  and  on  this 


320  THE  GRENADIER 

occasion  I  have  told  you  just  why  he  struck  his  gen- 
eral. This,  however,  the  Emperor  did  not  know." 

"  But,  grand-pere,  why  did  not  you  shout  out,  '  He 
is  not  drunk!  he  is  not  drunk! '?"  cried  Jules. 

"  Ecoute  s'il  pleut!  (be  quiet),  Jules,"  said  Susanne. 

"  Now  have  patience,  mes  enfants,  and  you  shall 
know  all.  The  Emperor  stood  before  our  line  and 
said  to  us  all,  '  Is  he  a  gallant  fellow? '  '  Yes,  yes, 
sire/  we  all  cried,  '  he  is  an  excellent  soldier.  We 
know  him  well.  He  will  never  remain  behind  when 
any  fighting  is  going  on.'  Then  the  Emperor  came 
up  to  Andre,  who  was  still  kneeling,  took  him  by  the 
ears  and  shook  his  head,  saying,  '  How  is  it  that  you, 
who  are  a  good  soldier,  could  be  guilty  of  such  im- 
proper conduct?  Tell  me,  what  would  have  become 
of  you  if  my  arrival  had  been  delayed  a  single  day?' 
Then  he  slapped  him  on  the  cheeks  and  said,  '  Go 
back  to  your  regiment  and  never  forget  this  lesson.' " 
.  "Tres-bien!  tres-bien!"  cried  Adolphe,  "then  he 
was  not  shot!  Oh!  the  Emperor  was  a  nice  man." 

"  But,  mes  enfants,"  said  old  Pasquin,  "  the  best  is 
yet  to  come." 

"  Good!  good!  "  cried  Octave.  "  Do  you  hear  that, 
Louise,  the  best  is  yet  to  come." 

"  Best  is  yet  to  come,"  repeated  Louise  gleefully. 

"That  night  the  Emperor  found  out  why  Andre 
struck  his  General,  for  some  one  told  M.  Savary  and 
he  told  the  Emperor.  What  do  you  think  the  Em- 
peror did  then?" 

"What  did  he  do?    What  did  he  do?"  they  cried. 

"  Patience,  and  you  shall  hear.  Next  morning  the 
Emperor  sent  for  Andre  Marceau,  and  Andre,  all  fear 
and  trembling,  went  up  to  the  Emperor's  tent.  There 


GRENOBLE  321 

was  the  Emperor,  looking  stern  enough,  and  there  too 
were  four  or  five  Marshals  and  as  many  aides-de-camp, 
and,  if  you  had  seen  as  many  of  them  as  I  have,  you 
would  know,  by  my  simply  saying  they  were  there, 
what  an  imposing  lot  they  were,  all  stars  and  plumes 
and  gold.  Then  General  Vandamme  came  forward, 
and  with  a  very  pale,  set  face  he  said  to  Andre,  '  I 
apologize  for  having  struck  you.  I  am  sorry  for  it' 
Think  of  that!  A  great  general  apologizing  before 
them  all  to  a  common  soldier,  and  the  Emperor  made 
him  do  it,  and  he  was  the  best  friend  the  common  sol- 
dier ever  had!  Now,  children,  give  a  cheer  for  the 
Emperor!  "  And  old  Pierre,  fired  by  his  recollections, 
was  up  on  his  legs  of  flesh  and  wood.  So  they  gave 
it — old  Pierre,  little  Susanne,  and  Louise  and  Jean- 
nette  and  Adolphe  and  Jules  and  Octave.  And 
through  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  as  it  had  rung  in  days  gone 
by,  sounded  again  the  shout — "Vive  1'Empereur!" 

Long  live  the  Emperor?  How  can  they  cry  that? — 
when  beneath  the  willows  at  St.  Helena,  under  a  plain 
white  stone,  rest  the  ashes  of  a  mighty  dead,  gone  and 
forgotten. 

Forgotten?     Listen  to  what  follows. 


21 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
LA  FRANCE  DEMANDE 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead. 

— TENNYSON,  The  Princess. 

IN  the  year  1840,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  eldest  son 
of  King  Louis  Philippe,  was  sent  with  the  French 
army  into  Africa  to  check  the  growing  power  of 
Abd-el-Kader,  and  with  him  went  his  younger  brother, 
the  Duke  d'Aumale.  It  was  with  much  chagrin  that 
the  Prince  de  Joinville,  third  son  of  Louis  Philippe, 
saw  his  brothers  depart  to  this  new  field  of  glory  to 
"  break  their  lances  right  brilliantly."  And  then  he 
fell  ill  with  the  measles  and  disappointment,  for  he  too 
had  hoped  to  have  a  mission  of  honor  and  renown. 
You  shall  have  one,  Prince  de  Joinville,  and  one  far 
greater  than  your  brothers.  Their  African  campaigns 
are  long  ago  forgotten,  but  the  memory  of  your  mis- 
sion endures,  and  will  endure  while  time  shall  last. 
And  so,  as  he  lay  in  a  high  fever,  there  came  to  his 
bedside  his  father,  King  Louis  Philippe,  and  M.  de 
Remusat,  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  the  King 
said  these  words:  "Joinville,  you  are  to  go  out  to 
St.  Helena  and  bring  back  Napoleon's  coffin."  On 
the  2nd  of  July  the  Prince  de  Joinville  left  Paris,  and 
on  the  6th  he  embarked  at  Toulon  on  board  his  frigate, 
the  "  Bellepoule,"  and  set  out  for  St.  Helena. 

Well,  the  news  of  this  mission  was  known  before 


LA  FRANCE  DEMANDE  323 

long  in  Grenoble  and  it  created  no  little  sensation 
there.  The  old  veterans  who  met  at  the  Trois  Dau- 
phins talked  it  over  and  arranged  to  go  in  a  body  to 
take  part  in  the  procession  in  Paris.  They  came  also 
to  the  Cafe  Jodelle  to  see  grand-pere  Pasquin  and  to 
know  if  grand-pere  Pasquin  was  going  too.  Yes 
indeed!  grand-pere  Pasquin  was  going.  So  they  all 
remained  with  him  during  the  afternoon,  the  best 
bottles  in  the  Cafe  Jodelle  were  opened,  and  they 
talked  over  the  days  gone  by. 

"  Ah,"  said  old  Pasquin,  looking  up  at  the  sabre  of 
honor,  "  if  only  brave  Philippe  Courteau  could  have 
lived  to  see  this  day,  and  Henri  Jodelle,  too,  for  during 
many  years  they  would  not  believe  him  dead,  but  said 
always,  '  It  is  false  rumor  to  deceive  us.  He  will 
come  again.'  " 

So  the  summer  passed,  but  in  the  last  days  of 
November  the  grand-pere  Pasquin  fell  ill  and  this  was 
the  way  of  it.  He  had  been  to  the  cemetery  one 
Sunday,  for  he  went  often  on  Sundays  to  see  the  three 
white  stones  bearing  the  names,  "  La  Veuve  Pasquin," 
"  Marie,"  "  Henri  Jodelle."  And  on  this  Sunday  it 
was  late  when  he  came,  and  after  he  had  remained 
some  time  beside  the  stones,  he  went  slowly  to  the 
gates,  but  they  were  fastened  and  there  was  no  one 
near  them.  He  shook  the  gates  and  cried,  "  Open!  " 
But  no  one  came,  for  the  custodian  had  gone  away 
to  eat  a  supper  with  his  friend  Le  Rolle  at  the  Place 
St.  Andre.  Then  old  Pasquin  tried  to  climb  the  wall, 
but  he  slipped  and  fell.  The  wall  was  not  iow,  so 
the  fall  stunned  him  and  he  lay  on  the  ground.  It 
was  dark  now,  and  the  wind  blew  more  strongly  and 
shook  the  leafless  trees.  Presently  the  rain  came,  a 


324  THE  GRENADIER 

sharp,  cold  rain,  that  fell  hard  and  chill  and  made  the 
water  run  in  rivulets  along  the  sides  of  the  path.  After 
some  hours  the  rain  stopped,  but  the  night  was  damp 
and  cold,  and  through  it  all  the  grand-pere  Pasquin 
lay  upon  the  ground.  When  morning  came  the 
jardinier  Simon  Benoit  found  him  there,  close  to  the 
wall,  soaked  with  water  and  stiff  with  cold.  Benoit 
in  haste  gave  him  some  brandy  and  had  him  taken 
home  to  the  Cafe  Jodelle,  where  Gaspard,  Josephine 
and  Susanne  soon  arrived,  for  they  had  been  to 
Vizille.  Worried  enough  they  were,  you  may  be  sure, 
and  he  was  rubbed  and  warmed  and  put  to  bed.  But 
he  grew  very  ill,  and  the  skilful  doctor,  M.  Sardique, 
who  was  summoned,  shook  his  head  and  said,  "  He  is 
very  sick,  Josephine,  he  is  very  sick." 

Then  fever  set  in;  he  was  often  delirious  and  he 
would  cry,  "  Doctor,  Doctor,  shall  I  live  to  go  to 
Paris?  Shall  I  live  to  go  to  Paris?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  grand-pere,  you  shall  go  to  Paris,"  said 
M.  Sardique,  to  quiet  him.  When  the  fever  left  him 
he  was  very  weak,  but  when  the  doctor  came  again 
he  repeated  his  question,  "  Doctor,  shall  I  go  to 
Paris?" 

"  Grand-pere,"  said  M.  Sardique,  "  you  have  been 
very  ill,  you  are  very  ill  now.  You  must  not  think 
of  that." 

Old  Pasquin  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he 
looked  fixedly  at  M.  Sardique  and  said,  "  Doctor,  I 
will  go  to  meet  the  Emperor.  I  will  go  to  Paris." 

He  grew  somewhat  better  after  that,  but  it  was  all 
in  vain  that  Josephine  and  Gaspard  strove  to  show 
him  that  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  travel.  He  let 
them  say  what  they  thought  right,  and  then  he  said 


LA  FRANCE  DEMANDE  325 

briefly,  and  each  time  with  more  determination  than 
before,  "  I  will  go  to  Paris!  " 

So  in  December  they  set  out;  Josephine,  Susanne 
and  Gaspard,  watching  and  tending  the  old  soldier. 
He  stood  the  journey  better  than  they  anticipated,  and 
when  he  saw  once  more  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame, 
the  dome  of  the  Tuileries  Palace  and  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  the  fire  came  again  into  the  old  soldier's 
eyes. 

Paris  was  all  expectant  when  they  reached  it,  for 
on  the  2Qth  of  November  the  royal  frigate  "  Belle- 
poule"  had  arrived  at  Cherbourg,  bearing  the  Em- 
peror's remains.  And  when  on  the  8th  of  December 
the  Imperial  barge  started  up  the  Seine,  Cherbourg 
saluted  with  one  thousand  guns.  Gaspard  took  them 
to  the  Cafe  Bovard,  on  the  Avenue  des  Champs 
Elysees,  for  Jules  Bovard  who  owned  it  was  a  son  of 
stout  Robert  Bovard  who  had  been  at  Pierre's  wed- 
ding feast,  and  they  knew  him  well. 

The  1 5th  of  December  drew  near.  All  day  the 
workmen  labored  on  the  decorations  of  the  city,  and 
all  night  they  worked,  too,  by  the  light  of  torches,  for 
the  "  Bellepoule  "  had  come  ten  days  sooner  than  she 
was  expected,  and  there  was  need  to  hurry.  The 
weather  was  bitter  cold,  but  the  sturdy  workmen 
labored  on  by  day  and  by  night. 

The  1 5th  of  December  came,  and  on  either  side  of 
the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees  were  statues  of 
victory,  eagle-topped  standards  and  tripods  and 
arches.  About  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  were  masts  bear- 
ing banners  inscribed  with  the  names  of  all  the  armies 
of  the  Republic  and  of  the  Empire ;  garlands  of  flowers 
hung  from  the  top  of  the  Arch  to  the  basement,  and 


326  THE  GRENADIER 

upon  the  summit  was  a  statue  of  the  Emperor  in  his 
Imperial  robes,  at  his  right  hand  an  equestrian  statue 
of  Glory,  at  his  left  an  equestrian  statue  of  Victory, 
and  all  about  tripods  of  colored  flame.  Over  the  Pont 
de  la  Concorde  were  statues  of  Wisdom,  Justice, 
Strength,  War,  Commerce,  Agriculture,  Eloquence, 
while  before  the  portals  of  the  Chambre  des  Deputes 
Palace  loomed  a  colossal  statue  of  Immortality.  On 
the  Esplanade  des  Invalides  were  statues  of  Kings 
and  famous  Captains  of  France,  who  had  given  their 
country  honor  and  renown,  from  Clovis  to  Macdonald. 
Between  them  all  were  tripods  sending  forth  bright 
flames,  and  they  stood  thus,  in  long  white  rows,  await  - 
1  ing  the  great  one  soon  to  pass  before  them. 

The  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees  was  lined  with 
National  Guards  on  either  side,  and  behind  them  were 
five  hundred  thousand  people,  and  there  were  forty 
thousand  more  upon  the  great  stands  on  the  Invalides 
Esplanade  and  thousands  more  within  the  Invalides 
Church  and  upon  every  housetop,  while  in  a  window 
of  the  Cafe  Bovard  were  Gaspard,  Josephine,  Susanne, 
and,  in  a  chair,  the  grand-pere  Pasquin,  and  so  the 
march  began. 

At  the  head  of  the  procession  came  the  Gendarmerie 
of  the  Seine  with  their  trumpets  and  their  colonel, 
then  the  Garde  Municipale  a  cheval  with  trumpets  and 
standard;  two  squadrons  of  the  7th  Lancers,  the 
Commandant  of  Paris  and  his  staff,  a  battalion  of 
infantry  of  the  Line,  the  Garde  Municipale  a  pied  with 
flag  and  drums  and  colonel,  the  General  of  Division 
and  his  staff,  the  Ecole  Militaire  of  St.  Cyr,  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique,  the  Ecole  Etat-Major,  battalions  of 
infantry,  cavalry  and  artillery,  squadrons  of  cuiras- 


LA  FRANCE  DEMANDS  327 

siers  of  the  National  Guard,  a  carriage  containing  M. 
I'Abbe  Coquereau,  chaplain  of  the  St.  Helena  Expedi- 
tion, the  white  horse  covered  with  violet  crape  em- 
broidered with  the  golden  bees  and  bearing  the  ama- 
ranth velvet  and  gold-embroidered  saddle  used  by  the 
Emperor  when  First  Consul,  and  then  the  banners  of 
the  86  Departments  of  France  borne  by  mounted 
cuirassiers.  Thus  they  passed  on  with  pealing  music, 
a  blaze  of  variegated  color  amid  tricolored  balconies, 
funereal  urns  and  golden  eagles.  Ah!  what  was  that 
shining  in  the  distance,  high  above  all?  The  old 
soldier  sat  erect  in  his  chair.  Down  the  Avenue  des 
Champs  Elysees,  crowned  with  flags,  surrounded  by 
gleaming  bayonets,  amid  waving  plumes,  enveloped 
by  clouds  of  incense,  girt  by  a  sea  of  upturned  faces, 
rolled  the  great  Imperial  Car,  golden-glittering,  awe- 
inspiring,  memory-awakening,  glory-recalling,  tri- 
umph-typifying!— bearing  the  ashes  of  Napoleon! 

The  old  soldier  trembled;  his  sight  grew  dim,  and 
his  blood,  with  a  rush  of  recollection,  leaped  to  his 
brain.  Faint,  yet  clear,  and  heard  by  him  alone, 
sounded  the  battle-song  of  other  days: 

En  avant!     En  avant! 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war; 
The  cannons  loudly  roar; 
The  eagles  proudly  soar. 

En  avant  I     En  avant! 
The  conqueror  goes  to  war. 
Behold  advance  the  flag  of  France, 

Triumphant  tricolore! 

"See!  grandpa,  see!"  cried  little  Susanne,  as  the 
veterans  of  the  Vieitte  Garde,  in  their  faded  uniforms 


328  THE  GRENADIER 

passed  by,  "the  Guard!     Your  Guard,  grandpa,  the 
Old  Guard!" 

There  was  no  response,  and  Josephine  turned 
quickly  from  the  window.  He  had  sunk  back  in  his 
chair,  one  hand  lay  in  his  lap,  and  the  other  hung 
listless  beside  him.  On  his  breast  was  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  Pierre  had  followed  the 
Emperor. 


THE    END. 


••'•II      II  I  I    I II   I    II 

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